\ 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 


A-  yAltt'  d 

THE    WANDERER: 


A  TALE  OF  LIFE'S 


"  Trudging  along-,  unknowing  what  he  sought, 
And  whistling  as  he  went,  1'or  want  of  thought." 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF   '  THE  WATCHMAN,'    «  OLD  DOCTOR,'  '  LAWYER'S  STORY,'  ETC 

NEW  YORK : 
E  .     D  .     LONG-, 

SUCCESSOR    TO    II  .    LONG    AND    B  E  O  T  II  E  E  , 
121   NASSAU-STREET. 


STACK 


[Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  Fifty-six 
by  E.  D.  LONG,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  "United  States  for 
the  Southern  District  of  New  York.] 


rs 


A'/ 


PREFACE. 


THE  title  of  the  following  story,  in  a  great  measure  explains 
itself :  therefore  but  few  words  will  be  necessary  by  way  of 
preface.  i:  The  fewer  the  better,"  I  fancy  I  hear  the  reader 
exclaim,  for  I  believe  there  is  truth  in  the  assertion,  that  few 
persons  read  a  preface,  and  the  few  who  do  read  it  think  it  a 
bore ,  but  it  has,  like  many  other  disagreeable  things,  become 
a  necessary  evil. 

I  shall  therefore  merely  observe,  that  in  tracing  the  career, 
not  only  of  the  hero  of  my  story,  but  that  of  every  character 
that  figures  therein.  I  have  fixed  my  thoughts  on  a  living  model, 
and  have  followed  the  original  as  closely  as  it  has  been  possible 
for  me  to  follow  it,  and  at  the  same  time  weave  from  a  mass 
of  facts  a  continuous  story,  and  develop  a  pre-arranged  plot. 

My  story  is  no  less  fact,  because  it  has  assumed  the  form 
of  fiction.  Readers  now-a-days  look  into  fiction  for  fact.  Now- 
a-days,  do  I  say  !  Ought  I  not  rather  to  say.  that  fiction  has 
always  been  employed  to  exemplify  fact  !  The  story-teller  of 
ancient  times  always  sought — and  the  present  story-tellers  of 

055 


iv  PREFACE. 

Eastern  climes  still  seek — to  point  a  moral,  while  relating  their 
fantastic  and  gorgeous  fictions ;  and  the  novelist  of  the  present 
day  is  but  the  story-teller  of  by-gone  years,  habited  in  a  coat 
of  modern  cut,  to  suit  the  altered  taste,  and  the  progress  of 
the  times. 

Although  I  have  not  written  an  autobiography,  I  have  pic 
tured  in  the  career  of  my  hero  the  early  history  of  his  life; 
and  in  depicting  every  character  in  the  book,  I  have  portrayed 
the  peculiar  characteristics  of  each  as  faithfully  as  it  has  been 
in  my  power  so  to  do. 

My  story  has  a  moral,  too :  but  what  it  is  I  shall  leave  the 
reader  to  discover.  I  shall  not  resort  to  the  practice  of  the 
ancient  painters,  who  wrote  under  their  pictures,  "  This  is  a 
horse ;  "  or,  "  This  is  a  cow ; "  as  the  case  might  be,  in  order 
to  prevent  misconception.  If  the  reader  be  unable  to  discern 
my  moral,  I  confess  that  I  shall  have  failed  in  my  purpose; 
but  I  trust  that  such  will  not  be  the  case,  or  at  least  I  hope, 
should  things  turn  out  so  unfortunately,  he  will  find  a  moral 
in  my  story  of  his  own  making,  which  if  it  be  a  good  one, 
will  answer  the  purpose  equally  as  well,  and  perhaps  be  more 
to  his  satisfaction. 

At  all  events,  I  have  written  with  an  honest  purpose,  and 
I  trust  have  chosen  an  acceptable  theme.  It  has  been  said, 
that  the  history  of  any  person's  life,  would,  if  truthfully  written, 
be  of  interest  to  the  reader  ;  but  in  my  opinion,  the  mere  every 
day  adventure  of  many  persons'  lives,  would  be  very  humdrum 


PREFACE.  v 

sort  of  reading.  Still  I  believe,  if  the  motive-springs  could 
be  disclosed,  and  the  secret  feelings  be  brought  to  light,  which 
have  urged  to  action  at  various  important  epochs  of  existence, 
the  experience  of  the  humblest  and  simplest  would  prove  of  the 
deepest  and  most  engrossing  interest.  I  am  aware,  that  in 
striving  to  effect  this,  I  have  imposed  upon  myself  a  difficult 
task.  I  cannot  hope  that  T  have  perfectly  succeeded ;  yet,  I 
trust,  since  I  have  adhered  as  closely  as  possible  to  truth,  that 
I  have  not  altogether  failed  in  my  endeavor,  and  I  please  my 
self  with  the  fancy,  that  my  story  will  at  least  strike  some- 
tuneful  chord  in  the  hearts  of  my  readers,  many  of  whom  I 
hope  will  be  old  acquaintances,  though  we  may  never  have 
met  each  other  face  to  face.  And  if  through  this  story,  I 
should  again  enjoy  with  these  an  hour's  mental  communion, 
even  if  I  do  not  succeed  in  my  more  ambitious  aim,  I  shall 
feel  that  I  have  not  written  altogether  in  vain. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. — In  which  the  hero  of  the  story  is  introduced  to  the  reader,  not 
in  the  most  digniiied  manner,  but  after  the  fashion  in  which  most  heroes 
make  their  earliest  appearance  on  this  world's  stage. 

CHAP.  II.— Strangers  in  a  strange  land,  without  a  European  reputation. 

CHAP.  III. — In  which  troubles  thicken,  and  clouds  grow  darker,  until  Charles 
Dalton  fortunately  becomes  acquainted  with  a  man  of  large  mind  and 
universal  philanthropy. 

CHAP.  IV. — In  which  the  principles  which  govern  a  true  philanthropist  are 
explained,  if  the  reader  chooses  to  accept  the  explanation. 

CHAP.  V. — In  which  Mr.  Dalton's  unhappy  career  is  brought  to  a  close. 

CHAP.  VI. — Which  treats  of  family  matters,  and  introduces  the  reader  to 
some  new  acquaintances. 

CHAP.  VII. — Treats  of  various  matters  in  connection  with  Mr.  Ashley's  posi 
tion,  and  relates  how  it  was  arranged  that  Mrs.  Dalton  should  return  to 
England. 

CHAP.  VIII. — Gerald  Dalton  falls  in  with  a  fellow-countryman  in  the  stage, 
on  his  journey  to  Kent,  and  what  comes  of  the  meeting. — Mrs.  Dalton  is 
welcomed  home  by  her  sister. 

CHAP.  IX. — Showing  who  prove  to  be  friends  in  time  of  trouble,  and  attest 
ing  to  the  truth  of  the  old  adage,  "  A  friend  in  need  is  a  friend  indeed." 

CHAP.  X. — Contains  some  account  of  Herrington  and  its  inhabitants,  and  tells 
how  Gerald  Dalton  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  home  and  seek  his  fortune. 

CHAP-  XI. — In  which  it  is  shown  that  misfortune  still  presses  upon  Mr. 
Ashley :  but  he  meets  with  a  friend  in  the  hour  of  need,  and  goes  to  Lon 
don.— Showing  further  how  Gerald  Dalton  accompanied  him  thither. 

CHAP.  XII. — The  journey  to  London,  and  what  befel  Mr.  Ashley  and  Gerald 
in  the  great  metropolis. 

CHAP.  XIII.— Which  relates  how  Mr-.  Ashley  went  to  Ceylon,  and  treats  of 
a  mystery  hereafter  to  be  explained. 

CHAP.  XIV. — Descriptive  of  Gerald's  feelings  when  he  returned  to  London. 
Also  of  what  Mr.  Ashley  wrote  from  Ceylon. — And  of  a  bright  ray  which 
shed  a  light  over  Gerald's  gloomy  prospects. 

CHAP.  XV. — Jemmy  Milton  gives  Gerald  some  good  advice  in  a  letter. — And. 
Gerald  takes  possession  of  an  invoice  of  rare  and  curious  merchandise,  to 
do  the  best  he  can  therewith. 

CHAP.  XVI. — In  which  it  is  told  how  Gerald  went  to  India,  and  what  occur 
red  during  the  voyage  and  after  he  arrived  at  Calcutta. — Also  details  of 
many  other  interesting  incidents. 

CHAP.  XVII.— Which  tells  of  the  result  of  the  Auction  Sale,  and  what  hap 
pened  afterwards,  and  also  shows  that  justice  is  awake  to  her  interests  in 
India  as  well  as  in  Europe  and  America. 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  XVIII. — A  very  short  chapter,  which  shows  how  pride  sometimes 

overcomes  right  and  reason,  und  severs  its  possessor  from  all  that  he  holds 

most  dear. 
CHAP.  XIX. — Which  relates  to  Alice  Thornton,  and  lifts  the  veil,  without 

however  explaining  the  cause  of  her  mysterious  disappearance  from  Iler- 

rington. 

CHAP.  XX. — In  which  the  scene  is  changed,  and  some  strange  things  occur 

after  a  strange  fashion. 
CHAP.  XXI. — Misrepresentations  and  their  results. — The  evil  effects  of  false 

pride  again  exemplified. 
CHAP.  XXII. — In  which  Mr.  Craddock  makes  a  long  and  strange  explanation, 

which  Alice  listens  to  patiently,  with  what  result  will  he  seen  hereafter. 
CHAP.  XXIII. — In  which  the  reader  obtains  sonic  inkling  of  the  motives 

which  actuated  Mr.  Craddock,  and  in  which  Alice  and  her  cousin  come  to 

a  mutual  understanding. — Showing  also  what  was  the  result. 
CHAP.  XXIV.— In  which  the  hero  of  the  story  is  found  to  have  made  a  more 

successful  voyage. — He  visits  old  friends,  and  receives  some  good  advice, 

which  partially  meets  the  usual  fate  of  good  advice  ;  and  accepts  the  offer 

of  a  novel  situation. 
CHAP.  XXV. — Showing  how  the  nohle  Dane  was  right  when  he  said,  "There 

are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio,  than  e'er  were  dreamed  of  in 

our  philosophy." 

CHAP.  XXVI.— Which  announces  the  death  of  Deacon  Milton,  and  tells  how 
Jemmy  Milton  came  into  possession  of  a  "fortun'."  How  he  was  sought 
after  in  marriage  by  antiquated  spinsters  and  disconsolate  widdys.  How 
all  was  in  vain,  and  how  Jemmy  made  his  will,  and  smoked  his  pipe  in 
peace  in  the  boat-house. 

CHAP.  XXVII. — Explaining  how  Minette  manages  to  procure  an  interview 
with  Alice,  at  the  Convent  at  Orleans,  and  showing  the  result  of  the  inter 
view. 

CHAP.  XXVIII. — Melancholy  news,  and  its  results. 

CHAP.  XXIX. — Gerald  arrives  at  Liverpool  and  proceeds  to  Herrington. — 

His  interview  with  the  vicar.— More  news  of  Alice.— Gerald's  plans.— A 

voyage  to  Cuba. 

CHAP.  XXX.— The  interview  with  the  executor,  showing  how  he  fell  into 
the  snare  laid  for  him,  and  how  Mr.  Craddock  consented  to  the  release  of 
his  niece  from  the  convent.— He  returns  to  England. 

CHAP.  XXXI. — In  which  the  reader  is  conducted  over  a  good  deal  of  ground, 
and  in  which  Love,  Courtship  and  Matrimony  arc  all  introduced.  Some 
readers  may  think  better  late  than  never. 

CHAP.  XXXII. — Which  treats  of  various  matters,  showing  how  Gentld  and 
Alice  visited  Cuba,  and  arranged  matters  to  their  own  satisfaction,  and 
afterwards  went  to  New  York,  where  Gerald  met  with  some  old  acquaint 
ances  by  name.  How  he  visited  Ohio,  and  returned  to  New  York,  leaving 
matters  in  abeyance  which  the  next  and  concluding  chaptcrwiil  set  torights. 

CHAP.  XXXIII.— Conclusion,  which  treats  of  various  matters,  each  neces 
sary  to  the  winding  up  of  the  story,  and  which,  the  author  hopes,  winds 
up  everything  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  reader. 


THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  I 

In  which  the  hero  of  the  story  is  introduced  to  the  reader,  not  in  the  most 
dignified  manner,  but  after  the  fashion  hi  which  most  heroes  make  their 
earliest  appearance  on  this  world's  stage. 

IT  was  the  22d  day  of  February,  18—;  the  guns  were  firing 
a  salute  from  the  Battery,  which  was  shortly  afterwards  return 
ed  from  the  broadside  of  a  man-of-war  which  lay  at  anchor  in 
the  stream,  with  the  stars  and  stripes  bravely  flaunting  in  the 
wind  from  her  mizzengaff  end,  while  a  pop-gun  sort  of  cross 
fire  was  kept  up  from  the  guns  of  several  other  vessels  in  the 
harbor.  The  streets  were  lively  with  the  gay  uniforms  of  the 
militia,  the  volunteer  companies,  and  the  members  of  the 
various  civic  societies,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  music  from 
the  bands  attached  to  each  company  that  formed  the  brilliant 
procession.  Out  of  doors  all  was  joyousness  and  gaiety  in 
the  city,  and  within  doors,  too,  many  kept  holiday  in  honor  of 
the  great  day  of  national  rejoicing  :  but  to  the  poverty-stricken, 
the  sick  and  suffering,  the  sounds  of  revelry  without,  afforded 
no  delight,  and  those  who  wept  o'er  sorrows  all  their  own, 
heeded  little  the  anniversary  of  Washington's  birthday. 

Stretched  on  a  bed,  in  a  small  and  scantily  furnished,  but 
sufficiently  commodious  chamber  on  the  second  story  of  a 
tenement  dwelling  house,  situated  on  one  of  the  streets  leading 
out  of  Broadway  in  the  direction  of  the  Hudson  River,  lay  a 
young  woman  in  a  condition  of  pain  and  suffering,  apparently 


10  THE    WANDERER. 

obtaining  little  relief  from  the  rather  over  assiduous  attentions 
of  a  nurse  who  had  evidently  been  endeavoring  to  brace  her 
nerves  for  some  great  coming  occasion,  by  imbibing  certain 
spirituous  tonics,  and  who  had,  like  many  other  over  zealous 
folks,  rather  over-done  the  thing. 

To  her  repeated  inquiries  of  the  sufferer,  whether  she  lay 
comfortably  in  bed,  the  young  woman  made  no  other  reply 
than  to  beg  to  be  left  to  rest  quietly,  and  a  look  of  pain  and 
supplication  was  all  that  the  nurse  received  in  return  for  her 
too  frequent  rearrangement  of  the  pillows  and  bed  clothes ; 
but  finding  expostulations  and  silent  and  imploring  appeals 
equally  fruitless,  the  young  woman  at  length  resigned  herself 
with  all  the  patience  she  could  to  the  tormenting  assiduity  of 
her  attendant.  Only  now  and  then  when  the  door  of  the  cham 
ber  was  softly  opened  and  the  pale,  anxious  face  of  a  gentle 
man  appeared,  did  she  make  sign  or  motion  ;  but  on  these 
occasions  she  turned  her  eyes  towards  the  door  and  with  a 
faint,  wan  smile,  sought  to  give  the  consolation  he  seemed  to 
need.  An  hour  passed  away,  and  the  nurse  wearied  and  vexed 
at  the  repeated  appearance  of  the  gentleman  at  the  door,  at 
length  asserted  her  prerogative,  and  telling  him,  in  no  very 
gentle  tone  of  voice,  that  the  lady  was  doing  well  and  was 
quite  comfortable,  and  that  if  the  poor  dear  became  worse,  she 
would  let  him  know,  without  giving  him  the  trouble  to  come  to 
the  door  and  make  such  a  disturbance,  (although,  to  tell  the  truth, 
the  disturbance  consisted  solely  in  his  appearance  in,  for  the 
time  being,  the  nurse's  particular  domain)  the  irate  old  lady 
closed  the  door  in  his  face,  and  then  with  an  air  of  triumph 
turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  muttering  to  herself  the  while 
various  bitter  anathemas  against  the  impertinent  curiosity  of 
the  male  sex  in  general,  husbands  as  a  class,  and  young  hus 
bands  in  particular,  on  such  occasions  as  these. 

The  gentleman  quietly  submitted,  as  gentlemen  on  such  oc 
casions  are  wont  to  do,  however  imperious  they  may  be  at 
other  times,  and  in  fact,  the  sentence  of  banishment  was  not  a 


THE    HERO'S    BIRTH.  11 

verv  severe  one,  since  he  had  but  to  remain  in  an  adjoining 
apartment  out  of  which  the  door  leading  to  the  bedroom  direct 
ly  opened,  and  from  which  retirement  he  could  distinctly  hear, 
if  he  strove  to  do  so,  all  that  passed  in  the  next  room,  and  if 
called  for  could  be  on  the  spot  in  a  moment. 

He  sat  himself  down  before  a  writing  desk  in  the  room,  on 
which  lay  a  number  of  narrow  slips  of  paper  partly  written 
over,  and  taking  a  pen  in  his  hand  wrote  rapidly  for  some 
moments.  Soon,  however,  the  flow  of  his  ideas  seemed  to 
have  met  with  some  obstruction.  Pie  ceased  writing  and  sat 
apparently  absorbed  in  thought  ;  but  in  reality  listening 
anxiously  to  discover  the  occasion  of  the  slightest  motion  made 
in  the  adjoining  room.  He  essayed  to  write  again,  but  vainly, 
and  throwing  aside  his  pen  in  despair,  he  took  from  the  floor 
one  of  a  file  of  newspapers,  and  glanced  hastily  up  and  down 
the  columns.  Wish  a  pair  of  scissors  he  clipped  out  one  or 
two  paragraphs  which  attracted  his  attention,  and  laid  them 
carefully  aside  ;  but  even  in  this  occupation  on  this  particular 
day  he  appeared  to  fail.  Newspaper  after  newspaper  was  taken 
up  and  glanced  over,  and  yet  the  scissoring  progressed  very 
slowly  until  at  last  he  gave  it  up  in  despair.  He  cast  the  last 
newspaper  aside,  pushing  away  the  crumpled  heap  which  lay  at 
his  feet,  threw  down  the  useless  scissors  beside  the  useless  pen, 
and  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand,  sat  in  silence  and  seeming 
abstraction,  from  which  state,  however,  he  was  shortly  aroused 
bv  the  sound  of  a  quick  footstep  on  the  stairs.  He  started  up 
and  at  the  same  moment  his  room  door  was  opened,  and  a 
gentleman  made  his  appearance. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  "Dal ton  T'  said  the  new  comer,  and, 
without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  added,  "  how  is  Mrs.  Dalton 
getting  on  T — at  the  same  time  walking  to  the  door  which  led 
into  the  bedroom,  and  tapping  gently. 

His  tapping  was  unheeded,  and  he  repeated  it  somewhat 
louder. 

"  It  aint  o'no  use,"  now  responded  a  querulous  voice  through 


12  THE    WANDERER 

the  keyhole,  "  you  can't  come  in,  not  if  you  knock  the  skin  off 
your  knuckles,  and  you  shan't — that's  flat.  Nobody  shan't 
come  in  until  the  doctor  comes — and  it's  time  he  was  here  if 
he  know'd  how  to  'tend  to  his  bis'ness." 

" Silence,  you  stupid  woman!"  replied  the  doctor.  "It  is 
I — Doctor  Sinclair.  Open  the  door  directly." 

The  key  was  turned,  and  amidst  the  muttered  apologies  of 
the  grim  'duenna,  the  doctor  entered. 

Mr.  Dalton  was  about  to  follow,  but  with  a  malicious  grin 
the  old  dame  closed  the  door  in  his  face,  and  the  poor  gentle 
man  returned  crestfallen  to  his  solitary  writing  desk. 

In  a  few  minutes  Doctor  Sinclair  reappeared  from  the  bed 
room,  and  anticipating  the  anxious  inquiry  Mr.  Dalton  was 
about  to  make,  he  said — 

"  I  am  glad  to  inform  you,  Mr.  Dalton,  that  your  wife  ap 
pears  to  be  progressing  most  favorably.  I  should  like  to  wait 
here  a  short  time,  if  you  will  allow  me,  and,  excuse  me,  but 
perhaps  you  had  better  retire  into  another  apartment  for  the 
present.  You  know  in  case  of  necessity — not  that  I  apprehend 
there  is  the  slightest  reason  to  anticipate  any  difficulty — you 
can  be  sent  for  immediately." 

Poor  Mr.  Dalton!  first  turned  out  of  his  own  room  by  a 
crusty  nurse,  and  then  politely  requested  to  resign  his  private 
sitting  room,  to  the  doctor.  Independently  of  his  natural 
anxiety,  he  was  placed  in  a  quandary.  lie  had,  in  fact,  no  other 
apartment  of  his  own  to  retire  to,  unless  he  took  refuge  in  the 
kitchen,  or  in  an  attic  room  occupied  as  a  sleeping  apartment 
by  his  only  servant  maid. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  him.  He  had  been  greatly  com 
forted  by  the  doctor's  cheerful  tone  of  voice  when  speaking  of 
his  wife,  and  he  said  : — 

"  Since  you  think  there  is  no  danger  to  be  apprehended — no 
immediate " 

"  None  at  all,  my  dear  sir,"  interrupted  the  doctor — "  I  do 
not  perceive  that  there  is  the  least  cause  for  anxiety  ;  though," 


THE    HERO'S    BIRTH.  13 

he  added,  smiling  archly  as  he  spoke,  "  there  is  always  anxiety 
on  the  part  of  the  husband  in  such  cases." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  Mr.  Dalton,  "  I  will  run  round  to 
the  Trumpeter  of  Freedom  office,  and  leave  some  copy.  The 
printers,  I  fear,  will  be  waiting.  I  should  have  been  there  two 
hours  ago  to  read  proof.  It  is  but  a  few  blocks  distant  from 
the  next  street,  you  know ;  I  shall  be  back  again  in  an  hour, 
and  if  before  that  time  anything  should  occur — if  I  should  be 
wanted,  why — of  course " 

"  Of  course  you  shall  be  sent  for  immediately,"  again  inter 
rupted  the  doctor.  "  But  give  yourself  no  alarm.  I  have  no 
doubt  every  thing  will  progress  favorably,  and  I  trust  that 
happy  news  will  await  you  on  your  return." 

Mr.  Dalton  grasped  the  doctor's  hand  and  shook  it  with  a 
vehemence  that  astonished  tnat  worthy  gentleman.  (It  appear 
ed  as  if  he  anticipated  the  happy  news  the  doctor  had  alluded 
to  and  was  tendering  his  gratitude  beforehand ;)  and  then 
seizing  a  roll  of  manuscript  he  left  the  room,  turning  about, 
however,  before  he  closed  the  door,  and  repeating : — 

"  Of  course,  in  case " 

"  In  case  your  presence  is  required  you  shall  be  sent  for  im 
mediately,"  interrupted  the  doctor,  stepping  to  the  door,  and 
closing  it  himself— and  Mr.  Dalton,  in  a  state  of  high  nervous 
excitement  descended  to  the  street  and  hastened  to  the  news 
paper  office. 

Mr.  Dalton  had  been  absent  an  hour,  during  which  period  the 
doctor  had  divided  his  attention  between  the  sitting  room  and  the 
bed  chamber.  It  was  considerably  past  the  hour  of  noon,  and  the 
lust  salvo  of  artillery  had  been  fired  from  the  Battery;  the  echoes 
of  the  pacific  cannonade  still  resounded  in  the  air,  and  Mr. 
Dalton,  who  had,  sorely  against  his  will,  been  detained  longer 
than  he  had  been  expected,  was  still  engaged  in  proof-reading 
at  the  newspaper  office,  and  mentally  and  most  unpatriotically 
anathematizing  the  noise  and  confusion  in  the  street  when  a  feeble 
cry  might  have  been  heard  in  the  sitting  room,  proceeding  from 


14  THE    WAN  DEREK. 

thebedroom  from  which  he  had  been  so  unceremoniously  ejected, 
if  any  one  had  been  in  the  sitting  room  to  hear  it.  The  lady 
of  the  house  had  been  sent  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before,  and 
had  made  her  appearance,  accompanied  by  a  lady  lodger  who 
chanced  to  be  in  conversation  with  her  in  the  parlor  when  the 
messenger  arrived  ;  both  these  ladies,  with  the  nurse  and  the 
doctor,  were  now  in  the  bedroom,  and  Mr.  Dalton  was  the 
father  of  a  fine  healthy  male  child. 

The  grateful  intelligence  was  made  known  to  him  by  the 
servant  girl,  who  had  been  sent  to  his  office  by  Dr.  Sinclair  im 
mediately  after  the  occurrence  of  the  auspicious  event,  and  he 
hastened  home  as  soon  as  he  heard  it. 

Loud  and  many  were  the  congratulations  poured  into  the 
delighted  father's  ears  by  the  ladies  in  attendance,  and  again  he, 
shook  hands  with  the  doctor,  murmuring  the  while  various  in 
coherent  expressions  of  gratitude,  and  commendations  of  the 
doctor's  skill.  After  a  short  time  he  was  allowed  to  visit  the 
sick  chamber,  and  to  imprint  upon  the  pale  cheek  of  his  young 
wife  the  joint  husband  and  father's  first  kiss,  and  to  take  an  ad 
miring  look  at  the  pledge  of  their  mutual  love  ;  but  the  doctor 
soon  begged  him  to  retire,  as  the  lady  needed  rest — and  he 
unwillingly  returned  to  the  newspaper  office,  there  to  waste  the 
hours  till  midnight,  as  was  his  daily  obligation  ;  his  weary 
labors  only,  on  this  special  occasion,  relieved  by  two  or  three 
brief  visits  to  his  home,  to  satisfy  himself  that  all  was  going 
on  well. 

Having  thus  introduced  my  hero  to  my  readers  in  the  person 
of  the  newly  born  babe,  I  shall  leave  him  for  the  present, 
while  I,  according  to  precedent  established  in  such  cases, 
give  some  account  of  his  parentage  and  trace  back  his  ancestry 
as  far  as  is  necessary  to  the  proper  development  of  my  story. 

The  infantile  period  of  the  most  interesting  hero's  life,  unless 
he  chance  to  be  born  King  of  Rome,  or  Algiers,  or  heir  to 
some  great  estate,  can  possess  nothing  of  interest  worth  record 
ing  beyond  the  pale  of  the  family  circle — that  circle,  in  most 


THE    HERO'S    BIRTH.  15 

instances,    narrowed  to  the    fond  father    and  mother  alone 
therefore,  I  shall  allow  some  years  to  pass  over  the  hero's  head 
before  I  again  introduce  him  in  propria  personce  to  my  readers. 

I  may  state,  however,  that  the  fact  of  his  being  born  on  the 
anniversary  of  the  birthday  of  the  immortal  Washington,  af 
forded  much  food  for  gossip  among  the  sisterhood  of  the  board 
ing  house  in  which  he  drew  his  first  breath.  The  landlady  o. 
the  house  thought  it  decidedly  a  good  omen,  and  prophesied  all 
manner  of  good  luck  in  consequence  ;  but  she  was  in  the  mi 
nority,  the  other  two  lady  boarders  who,  with  the  family  of 
Mr.  Dalton,  comprised  the  whole  number  of  lodgers  in  Mrs. 
Hammond's  select  boarding  house,  thought  differently.  They 
professed  to  believe  that  ill-fortune  always  befals  the  unhappy 
infant  who  chances  to  be  born  on  the  22d  of  February,  on  the 
ground  that  it  is  a  sort  of  presumption  on  the  part  of  any 
child  to  come  into  the  world  on  a  day  that  has  been  rendered 
sacred  by  the  birth  of  the  Father  of  his  Country  ;  and  being 
both  elderly  ladies,  who  had  had  a  great  deal  of  experience  in 
the  world,  and  who  had  not,  in  their  own  opinion,  been  lacking 
in  observation,  they  brought  several  cases  in  point  to  bear 
against  the  landlady,  who,  however,  stoutly  persisted  in  her  own 
opinion. 

This  gossip,  of  course,  was  carried  on  in  the  parlor,  over  a 
glass  of  mulled  wine  that  was  brewed  in  honor  of  the  occasion 
by  the  landlady,  and  out  of  the  hearing  of  the  young  mother, 
who,  while  these  speculations  respecting  the  future  prospects 
of  her  first  born  were  being  made,  was  soundly  sleeping  to  the 
droning  music  of  the  nurse,  who,  wearied  with  anxious  watching 
and  her  drowsiness  increased  by  her  potations,  was  snoring 
in  a  rocking  chair  by  the  bedside. 

Whether  the  prognostications  of  the  hopeful  landlady,  or 
those  of  her  lady  boarders  proved  correct,  will  be  learnt  by 
the  reader  who  traces  the  career  of  my  hero  through  the  fol- 
_owing  pages. 


16  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER   II. 

Strangers  in  a  Strange  Land,  without  a  European  Reputation. 

ABOUT  thirty  or  thirty-five  years  ago,  there  arrived  one  day 
an  emigrant  ship- at  the  port  of  New  York.  At  the  nresent 
period  the  arrival  of  an  emigrant  ship  is  a  matter  of  every-clay 
occurrence,  and  even  at  the  distant  period  of  which  I  write, 
it  was  not  an  event  of  such  rarity  as  to  call  forth  any 
extraordinary  curiosity,  for  the  tide  of  emigration  from  the 
Old  World  had  many  years  before  set  Westward,  and  although 
it  had  been  temporarily  checked  by  the  war  of  1812-14,  the 
return  of  peace  had  given  to  it  an  unwonted  activity.  Conse 
quently,  though  there  might  have  been  a  few  more  curious 
lookers-on  than  are  found  in  the  event  of  a  similar  arrival 
now  a  days,  the  matter  was  regarded  with  no  very  great  interest 
by  the  citizens  generally. 

There  was  the  customary  hurry  and  bustle  on  the  pier ;  the 
customary  quarrelsome  vociferation  among  carters  and  porters 
and  the  customary  endeavors  to  practice  knavish  tricks  upon 
the  unwary  passengers  by  emigrant  runners,  boarding  house, 
keepers,  et  id  genus  omne  ;  and  by-and-by  the  strangers  were 
scattered  in  every  direction  hither  and  thither  throughout  the 
city,  seeking  rest  and  refreshment  after  their  long  sea  voyage  ; 
some  were  dreaming  hopeful  dreamt  which  were  never  destined 
to  be  realized  ;  some  were  again  mingling  in  the  flights  of  their 
sleeping  fancy  with  the  loved  ones  they  had  left  behind  them, 
and  a  happy  few  were  hatching  plans  to  secure  the  favors  of 


A    STRANGER'S    DIFFICULTIES.  17 

'ortune  in  their  newly  adopted  country,  which  were  destined  to 
succeed  to  a  degree  beyond  even  their  own  sanguine  expectations. 

The  next  morning  the  ship  lay  alongside  the  pier,  deserted 
oy  all  her  late  living  freight  except  the  crew. 

Among  the  passengers  that  had  arrived  in  the  city  of  New 
YorK  on  board  this  emigrant  ship,  were  a  young  Englishman 
named  Charles  Dalton  and  his  still  more  youthful  wife,  whom 
he  nad  wedded  only  six  months  before  he  sailed  from 
England. 

This  young  couple  had  engaged  a  steerage  passage,  from 
motives  of  necessary  economy  ;  but  it  was  evident  from  their 
appearance  that  they  belonged  to  a  more  cultivated  class  of 
society  than  usually  composes  the  steerage  passengers  of  an 
emigrant  vessel. 

On  landing  in  New  York  they  took  lodgings  in  a  comfortable 
but  economical  hotel,  and  after  chatting  awhile  before  a  cheer 
ful  fire  about  the  friends  they  had  left  at  home,  and  over  their 
future  prospects  in  the- United  States,  they  retired  to  rest. 

Mr.  Dalton  left  England  with  a  very  scanty  supply  of  ready 
money  and  a  very  large  stock  of  hope.  In  fact,  he  felt  assured 
of  success,  although  he  had  scarcely  given  a  serious  thought  in 
regard  to  the  method  by  which  success  was  to  be  achieved  ; 
but  he  firmly  believed  that  before  his  slender  funds  were  ex 
hausted,  he  would  be  able,  in  the  young  and  energetic  land  of 
his  adoption,  to  discover  some  stepping  stone  by  the  aid  of 
which  he  might  secure  a  favorable  position  on  the  ladder  of 
fortune. 

If  he  had  thought  at  all  upon  the  subject  of  his  future  exertions 
it  is  probable  that  he  mainly  depended  upon  his  expectations  of 
obtaining  literary  employment.  He  had  received  a  liberal  edu 
cation,  and  had  been  thought  by  his  friends  to  possess  more  than 
mediocre  talent ;  but  he  had  been  taught  no  trade  nor  profes 
sion,  and  his  hopes  of  literary  advancement  in  America  were 
simply  founded  on  the  strength  of  several  literary  compositions  ot 
his  writing  having  found  their  way  into  the  newspapers  of  his 
own  country. 


18  THE    WANDERER 

Like  many  others,  he  had  quitted  the  Old  World  impressed 
with  the  belief  that  the  services  of  a  man  of  education  would 
be  eagerly  sought  after  and  liberally  remunerated  in  the  New 
World,  and  that  so  far  from  finding  himself  under  the  necessity 
of  seeking  employment,  he  would  be  requested  to  choose  from, 
a  multiplicity  of  offers  the  situation  that  best  pleased  his  fancy, 
and  like  many  others,  he  was  doomed  to  find  himself  most 
wofully  mistaken  in  his  notions. 

He  spent  the  first  few  weeks  after  his  arrival  at  New  York 
in  looking  about  him  ;  in  endeavoring  to  make  himself  familiar 
with  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  people,  and  in  writing 
letters  to  his  friends  in  England  ;  but  he  was  somewhat  disap 
pointed  when,  at  the  expiration  of  this  period,  he  found  that  he 
had  had  no  offer  of  employment. 

But  a  little  reflection  reassured  him  ;  for  how  was  it  possi 
ble,  he  thought,  that  any  body  could  make  his  acquaintance  or 
become  cognizant  of  his  capabilities  unless  he  first  introduced 
himself  to  them. 

By  this  time  the  small  supply  of  money  he  had  brought 
with  him  from  England  had  become  alarmingly  reduced,  and 
he  felt  that  it  was  really  time  that  he  was  doing  something  to 
replenish  his  purse — so,  after  due  consultation  with  his  wife,  he 
resolved  to  make  application  at  some  of  the  newspaper  offices, 
and  by  this  means  procure  employment. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon  when  he  made  this^  determination, 
and  on  the  following  Monday  morning  he  sallied  forth  in  high 
spirits  to  make  the  first  application  for  employment  that  he  had 
ever  found  it  necessary  to  make.  As  he  left  his  room  at  the 
hotel,  he  kissed  his  young  wrife,  and  playfully  remarked  that  in 
future  she  would  have  to  make  much  of  him  when  at  home,  for 
he  intended  to  work  hard  when  he  once  commenced. 

Alas !  poor  Charles  Dalton ;  he  soon  discovered,  as  many 
others  have  discovered  before  and  since,  that  the  loftier  a  man's 
aspirations  the  lesser  his  prospects  of  success.  Before  he  return 
ed  to  his  hotel  that  night,  his  high  blown  hopes  had  proved  to 


A   STRANGER'S    DIFFICULTIES.  19 

be  mere  empty  bubbles,  which  had  collapsed  and  wasted  into 
thin  air  with  the  shock  of  the  first  collision  they  met  with. 

Newspaper  office  after  newspaper  office  was  visited  in  vain. 
Every  where,  with  few  exceptions,  he  was  courteously  received 
and  his  proffers  of  service  patiently  listened  to,  and  then  quiet 
ly  and  courteously  declined. 

The  newspapers  of  New  York  of  that  period  did  not  employ 
the  host  of  editors  and  the  large  corps  of  reporters  attached  to 
every  influential  journal  now,  and  he  discovered  to  his  surprise 
and  regret  that  every  journal  was  fully  supplied  with  all  the 
literary  assistance  it  needed. 

Some  few  of  the  editors,  however,  to  whom  he  applied  ques 
tioned  him  as  to  his  ability,  and  his  acquaintance  with  the 
routine  of  newspaper  labor. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  recently  from  London,"  said  one  gentleman, 
after  having  listened  to  his  story.  "  What  journals  have  you 
been  engaged  upon  there,  and  in  what  special  department  were 
you  employed  T' 

"  I  have  never  had  any  regular  engagement  with  any,"  was 
the  young  man's  reply. 

u  Ah  !  I  see.  You  have  been  engaged  as  an  occasional  re 
porter.  Do  you  write  short  hand "?" 

Charles  Dalton  honestly  confessed  that  he  knew  nothing  of 
stenography,  and  in  fact  had  never  reported  a  speech  or  a  trial 
in  his  life. 

"  You  have  been  simply  a  literary  man  ;  perhaps  a  review 
er  1  We  scarcely  require  the  services  of  such  a  gentleman  here 
just  now." 

The  young  man  was  fain  to  confess  that  he  had  been  in  no 
way  connected  with  any  journal  either  as  editor,  reporter  or 
occasional  correspondent.  "  I  have,  to  amuse  myself,  some 
times  written  articles  for  the  newspapers  and  magazines,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  sent  them  to  the  editors  anonymously,  and  never 
received  or  sought  for  remuneration.  Circumstances,  unfore 
seen,  have  compelled  me  to  look  for  support  to  my  own  exer- 


20  THE    WANDERER. 

tions,  and  I  resolved  to  visit  the  United  States  in  the  hope  and 
belief  that  a  wider  field  was  open  here  to  the  educated  and  in 
dustrious  than  in  England." 

The  gentleman  with  whom  he  had  been  conversing  was  a 
kind-hearted  man,  and  he  regarded  the  youth,  for  Charles  Dai- 
ton  was  only  twenty-two  years  of  age,  with  sympathy,  as  he 
replied  : — 

"  I  fear,  young  gentleman,  that  you  will  find  your  hopes  dis 
appointed.  As  you  truly  observe,  there  is  a  wide  fiel^  open 
here  to  the  energies  of  the  educated  and  industrious  ;  but  un 
less  you  have  a  practical  acquaintance  with  some  useful  trade 
or  profession,  education  will  avail  you  but  little.  If  you  were 
a  printer,  now — we  are  in  no  particular  need  of  hands — but  I 
\vould  give  you  a  job  until  you  could  find  some  employment 
better  suited  to  your  views.  This  is  a  large  city  and  a  vast 
amount  of  business  is  daily  'transacted  within  its  limits,  yet 
there  are  always  to  be  found  in  the  city  more  laborers  in  every 
department  of  industry  than  there  is  work  for  them  to  do. 
The  city  is  especially  overstocked  with  persons  like  yourself, 
accustomed  to  and  fitted  only  for  educated  labor.  The  country 
is  the  place  where  strangers  should  seek  for  employment ;  there 
they  will  find  it  in  abundance ;  but  you  are  scarcely  adapted 
for  a  country  life,  yet  unless  you  possess  remarkable  talent  and 
have  some  extraordinary  opportunity  afforded  you  to  bring  it 
into  notice,  you  can  scarcely  hope  for  literary  success,  even  after 
years  of  struggling,  and  patient  endurance  of  poverty  and  its 
attendant  evils. 

"  I  should  advise  you — I  speak  plainly,  because  I  wish  to 
serve  you — to  lay  aside  your  literary  tastes,  and  go  into  the 
fields.  As  a  farmer  your  education  will  still  be  of  service,  and 
common  industry  will  always  supply  you  with  the  necessaries 
of  life  ;  with  the  aid  of  perseverance  you  cannot  fail,  in  the 
course  of  time,  to  become  independent. 

"  I  tell  you  honestly,  young  man,  were  I  as  young  as  you,  and 
had  my  time  to  go  over  again,  I  would  shun  the  city  as  I  would 


A   STRANGER'S   DIFFICULTIES.  21 

a  pest  house  and  betake  myself  to  the  fields,  and  become  that 
most  independent  class  of  all  men — an  American  farmer. 

"  If,  however,  you  feel  unable  to  cast  aside  the  habits  of  your 
past  life,  you  may  perhaps  succeed  with  the  magazine  publish 
ers  or  the  booksellers  ;  but,  take  notice,  I  give  you  little  en 
couragement.  You  can,  however,  if  you  think  proper,  write  a 
short  article  that  will  afford  some  proof  of  your  capabilities, 
and  I  will  then  direct  you  to  a  friend  of  mine,  a  magazine  pub 
lisher  ;  you  can  talk  the  matter  over  with  him,  and  perhaps 
you  may  come  to  some  terms ;  but  again  I  warn  you — the 
chance  in  your  favor  is  but  small." 

Charles  Dalton  thanked  the  friendly  editor,  and  left  the  office. 
He  returned  to  the  hotel  depressed  in  spirits  and  weary  with 
his  travel  through  the  streets,  for  he  had  during  the  day  called 
at  every  newspaper  office  in  the  city,  and  his  imperfect  ac 
quaintance  with  the  localities  had  led  him  to  traverse  many  a 
needless  distance  and  often  to  retrace  his  steps. 

Mrs.  Dalton  met  her  husband  at  the  door  of  the  sitting 
room  they  occupied  in  the  hotel.  She  had  heard  and  recognized 
his  footsteps  in  the  passage,  and  full  of  hope  and  confidence  in 
her  husband's  talents,  she  had  anticipated  his  joyful  return. 

The  first  glance  that  she  cast  at  his  face,  however,  satisfied 
her  that  he  had  met  with  disappointment.  She  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  kissed  him.  He  affectionately  returned  the 
caress,  and  threw  himself  on  the  sofa  without  speaking.  His 
wife  seated  herself  by  his  side. 

"  You  have  been  unsuccessful,  dear  Charles,"  she  said.  "  I 
see  disappointment  in  your  face.  Is  it  not  so  T' 

"  It  is,  Mary,"  he  despondingly  replied.  "Nor  do  I  perceive 
the  faintest  hope  of  success.  I  have  been  grievously  misled. 
Such  as  I  have  no  business  in  this  country." 

"  Do  not  be  discouraged,  Charles,  with  the  ill-success  of  one 
day's  endeavor,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton.  "Think  no  more  about  it 
to-night ;  perhaps  to-morrow  you  may  be  more  successful." 

*'  I  fear  not,  Mary,  and  yet  something  must  be  done,  and 


22  THE    WANDERER. 

that  speedily.  You  know  as  well  as  I,  dear,  that  our  funds  will 
not  support  us  much  longer.  " 

The  subject  was  talked  over  earnestly  during  the  evening. 
Charles  knew  that  his  previous  habits  had  utterly  unfitted  him 
for  manual  labor,  and  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  pri 
vations  to  which  his  young  and  delicately  nurtured  wife  would 
be  subjected  if  he  were  compelled  to  remove  with  her  into  the 
country,  and  depend  for  subsistence  upon  farm  labor. 

Mrs.  Dalton's  affection  for  her  husband  caused  her  to  treat 
the  matter  lightly,  and  in  the  hope  of  cheering  him  and  re 
storing  his  spirits  to  their  customary  buoyancy,  she  expressed 
her  willingness  to  go  at  once  to  the  country  ;  but  Charles  would 
not  listen  to  her,  and  he  finally  resolved,  notwithstanding  the 
faint  hopes  held  out  to  him  by  the  friendly  editor,  to  try  if  he  could 
not  succeed  in  obtaining  an  engagement  with  more  publishers. 

He  closely  calculated  his  expenses  for  three  weeks  longer 
and  thought  that  by  observing  the  strictest  economy,  he  had  suf 
ficient  money  left  to  support  himself  and  his  wife  during  that 
period,  and  satisfied  of  this  he  resolved  at  once  to  go  to  work 
and  write  a  series  of  short  articles  suitable  for  a  magazine  or 
perhaps  for  a  small  book  or  nouvellette — and  when  he  had 
completed  his  task  to  call  again  upon  the  friendly  editor  and 
solicit  his  assistance  in  obtaining  the  promised  introduction  to 
a  publisher. 

He  labored  intensely,  working  early  and  late,  and  at  the  ter 
mination  of  the  three  weeks  he  had  completed  a  series  of 
papers  sufficient  to  fill  a  moderately  sized  volume.  He  had 
some  doubts  as  to  their  quality ;  but  in  his  wife's  partial  opin 
ion  they  were  the  most  delightful  sketches  she  had  ever  read. 

She  had  assisted  him  from  time  to  time,  in  copying  now  and 
then  a  blotted  sheet  and  in  looking  out  passages  in  his  books  of 
reference,  and  in  arranging  the  sheets  of  manuscript  and  stitch 
ing  them  together,  and  at  length,  with  a  beating  heart,  he  again 
set  forth  to  visit  the  editor. 

He  was  kindly  received  by  that  gentleman,  and  after  a  few 


A    STRANGER'S    DIFFICULTIES.  23 

words  of  explanation  the  young  man  offered  the  editor  his  man 
uscript  for  inspection,  begging  him  to  read  a  few  pages  here 
and  there,  and  requesting  his  candid  opinion  regarding  it. 

The  editor  carefully  read  a  few  pages  in  different  parts  of 
the  stitched  manuscript,  without  speaking  a  word.  At  length 
returning  it  to  the  young  man,  he  said  : 

"  You  have  asked  my  candid  opinion — and  I  will  not  flatter 
you ;  at  the  same  time  you  are  aware  that  my  opinion  is 
simply  that  of  one  individual ;  others  may  differ  widely  from 
me.  Some  of  your  articles  appear  to  be  very  well  written  ;  but 
there  are  marks  of  haste,  and  evidence,  occasionally,  to  show 
that  you  have  not  been  accustomed  to  write  for  the  press ;  but 
your  style  is  scholar-like,  and  your  ideas  are  clearly  expressed 
in  simple  and  elegant  language.  There  is  much  room  for  that 
improvement  which  practice  will  bring.  Altogether  your 
specimens  are  at  least  equal  to  the  majority  of  those  which 
appear  in  the  magazines  and  reviews  of  the  day.  I  will  give 
you  a  letter  to  the  gentleman  of  whom  I  spoke  the  other  day, 
he  perhaps  may  publish  your  manuscript  for  you,  or  advise  you 
what  to  do  with  it,  but  I  cannot  conscientiously  give  you  much 
encouragement.  However,  there  is  nothing  like  trying ;  a  man 
that  perseveres  generally  succeeds  in  the  end,  and  I  heartily 
wish  you  success." 

The  promised  letter  was  written  and  handed  to  the  young 
man,  and  wishing  the  editor  good  day,  he  wended  his  doubtful 
way  to  the  publisher's  office. 

It  was  situated  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  news 
paper  office,  and  Charles  Dalton  consequently  had  ample  time 
to  collect  his  thoughts  and  calm  down  the  nervous  excitement 
which  he  felt  creeping  over  him;  but  his  efforts  were  in  vain. 
His  nervousness  increased  as  he  neared  the  place  where  his 
hopes  were  to  be  realized,  or  the  labors  of  the  past  three  weeks 
rendered  worthless  and  himself  and  his  wife  thrown  upon  the 
world  to  starve — for  one  dollar  was  all  that  remained  in  his 
pocket.  He  rarely  tasted  spirits,  but  he  felt  so  faint,  so  much 


24  THE    WANDERER. 

in  need  of  some  stimulant,  that  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
been  in  New  York  he  entered  a  public  house,  and  called  for  a 
glass  of  brandy,  changing  his  last  dollar  to  pay  for  it. 

He  drank  it  hastily  and  pursued  his  way ;  at  length  he 
arrived  at  the  office  he  was  in  search  of.  It  was  a  dreary  look 
ing  place,  occupying  the  first  floor  of  a  dingy  looking  building, 
the  lower  portion  of  which  was  occupied  by  a  dealer  in  hard 
ware,  and  the  publisher's  office  was  reached  by  ascending  a 
dirty  ladder- like  flight  of  steps,  on  one  side  of  the  store.  It 
was  a  very  different  place  outside  as  well  as  inside  from  the 
well-built,  commodious,  handsomely  fitted  up  houses  occu 
pied  by  the  publishers  of  the  present  day ;  but  it  must  be  re 
collected  that  publishing  was  carried  on  in  a  very  different 
style  thirty  years  ago,  from  what  it  is  now. 

"Is  Mr.  Jenkins  within?"  asked  Charles  Dalton  after  he 
had  entered  the  office,  of  a  young  man  attired  in  a  threadbare 
suit  of  clothing,  that  had  once  been  black  but  had  assumed  a 
tawny  reddish  hue  with  age  and  dust. 

The  young  man  looked  from  behind  a  heap  of  old  books 
which  he  had  taken  down  from  a  shelf  to  arrange — and  briefly 
replying  in  the  affirmative,  pointed  towards  a  stout  red-faced 
elderly  gentleman,  wearing  spectacles,  who  was  busy  in  exam 
ining  a  ledger,  at  a  desk  at  the  further  end  of  the  room. 

Charles  Dalton  walked  up  to  the  gentleman  to  whom  he 
was  directed. 

"  Your  name,  sir,  is  Jenkins  ?"  he  said,  as  he  drew  near. 

"  Yes  sir,  that  is  my  name,"  was  the  reply,  and  the  publisher 
looked  at  the  young  man  beneath  his  spectacles  which  he  had 
pushed  up  on  his  forehead  on  being  spoken  to,  with  an  expres 
sion  which  seemed  to  ask  the  question,  "  and  what  is  your  espe 
cial  business  with  me?" 

"I  have  called,"  replied  Charles,  in  reply  to  this  mute  inter 
rogatory,  "  at  the  instance  of  Mr.  S — ,  of  the  New  York  — ,  I 
have  brought  a  letter  of  introduction  from  him," — and  the  young 
man  handed  the  letter  to  the  publisher,  who  immediately 
opened  it  and  read  the  contents. 


A    STRANGER'S    DIFFICULTIES.  25 

" 1  have  a  very  great  respect  for  Mr.  S ,"  said  the  pub 
lisher,  after  he  had  read  the  letter,  again  pushing  his  spectacles 
up  on  his  forehead  and  addressing  the  young  man.  "  He 
informs  me  that  you  wish  to  show  me  some  manuscript — Have 
you  it  with  you1?" 

"  It  is  here  sir,"  said  Charles,  handing  the  manuscript  to  the 
publisher. 

"  A  great  deal  of  it ;  a  vast  amount  of  manuscript  here,  sir," 
continued  the  publisher,  turning  the  pages  over,  and  glancing 
at  the  numbers  at  the  head  of  each  sheet.  "Three  hundred 
and  twenty-five  folios.  My  good  Sir — ah  !  excuse  me ;  pray 
take  a  seat.  I  observe  you  are  standing — I  was  about  to  re 
mark  that  if  I  were  inclined  to  publish  it — mark  me — if  I 
found  after  due  examination  that  it  were  suitable  matter — 1 
don't  say  that  I  can  publish  it  until  I  examine  it — you  under 
stand  that:  but  if  I  were  to  do  so,  there  is  sufficient  manuscript 
here  to  occupy  all  the  space  I  could  spare  in  my  magazine  for 
the  next  twelve  months." 

Charles  trembled  with  nervous  excitement  as  he  replied  : — 

"  I  know,  sir,  that  there  is  more  matter  than  space  could  be 
conveniently  found  for  in  a  magazine  even  in  several  moni'  , 
but  I  thought — that  is,  I  was  led  to  hope  that  you  might  f.  I 
inclined  to  publish  it  in  book  form  ; — that  is,  if  you  found  id 
satisfactory  after  perusal." 

"  In  book  form,  young  gentleman  !"  exclaimed  the  publisher, 
actually  starting  from  his  seat  with  astonishment  at  the  pre 
sumption  of  the  supposition.  "  Why,  Sir,  allow  me  to  ask  the 
question,  '  Have  you  a  European  reputation  V 

"lam  an  Englishman  by  birth,"  replied  Charles.  "But 
unfortunately  I  have  no  European  reputation  as  a  literary  man. 
You  will  readily  perceive,  Sir,  that  I  am  too  young  to  have  yet 
been  able  to  acquire  such  a  reputation,  even  had  I  made  it  my 
ambition !" 

"  Ah !  of  course — I  see.  But,  really,  young  gentleman,  you 
quite  startled  me  with  your  proposition.  Why,  Sir,  it  would 
2 


26  THE    WANDERER. 

be  a  perfectly  ruinous  speculation  on  my  part  were  I  to  attempt 
such  a  thing.     Who  would  read  the  work  after  it  was  pub 
lished  ;  or  what  comes  more  directly  to  the  point,  who  would 
buy  it,  Sir  r 

"  I  really  cannot  undertake  to  say,"  replied  Charles,  gaming 
courage  from  very  despair.  "  But  I  had  no  idea  it  was  neces 
sary  to  the  sale  01"  a  book  here,  that  the  author  should  enjoy  a 
European  reputation." 

"  It  is  necessary,  Sir,  absolutely  necessary  ;  and,  even  then 
I  could  not  undertake  to  pay  a  copyright  for  the  work.  You 
see  the  way  we  manage  is,  to  reprint  the  books  after  they  have 
been  published  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  and  have 
attracted  notice  there.  Still,  if,  as  I  have  observed,  you  had  a 
European  reputation,  I  might  be  induced  in  consideration  for 
my  friend,  Mr.  S.,  to  give  the  manuscript  more  attention." 

"  Surely,  Sir,"  said  Charles,  "  America  is  capable  of  support 
ing  a  literature  of  her  own  ?  You  have  men  of  talent  in  all 
other  professions  in  this  country.  Surely  the  literary  profes 
sion  is  not  altogether  ignored  ?  Even  in  light  literature,  such 
as  I  have  ventured  to  try  my  humble  skill  upon.  I  think  I  have 
heard  of  Charles  Brockden  Brown  1 

"  Brockden  Brown  ?  ah,  yes — a  tolerably  clever  writer  he 
was  ;  but  his  novels  never  sold  much  here.  Somehow  or 
other  he  managed  to  gain  attention  abroad  and  he  did  rather 
better,  but  he  never  did  much,  Sir,  he  never  did  much." 

"I  have  heard  him  highly  spoken  of,"  replied  Charles, 
"  though  I  happen  never  to  have  seen  any  of  his  works." 

"  Yes,  yes,  he  has  been  pretty  highly  spoken  of,"  returned 
the  publisher,  "  but  still,  Sir,  his  books  don't  sell  like  the  books 
of  the  Minerva  press  class,  Sir.  Our  people's  taste  runs  that 
way  just  now,  and  publishers,  you  know,  like  other  people,  must 
look  to  the  main  chances." 

"I  have  heard  also,"  continued  Charles,  "of  a  humorous 
work  entitled  the  '  Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York,' 
which  gained  much  credit  for  its  author  in  this,  his  own  country, 
and  which  has  been  read  with  great  delight  in  England." 


A    STRANGER'S    DIFFICULTIES.  21 

"  Ah,  yes,  the  Knickerbocker — a  humorous  thing,  written 
by  a  young  man — what  is  his  name,  now  1  It  slips  my  mem 
ory — ah,  by  one  Washington  Irving.  Knickerbocker's  His 
tory  of  New  York  was  well  enough  as  a  mere  piece  of  hu 
morous  writing;  but  it  had  but  a  brief  existence,  Sir.  It  has 
had  its  day,  and  I  venture  to  predict  will  not  be  heard  of  five 
years  hence.  The  author  is  now  in  England  and  he  has  pub 
lished  there  another  work  called  the  Sketch  Book  ;  but  he 
might  as  well  spare  his  pains.  It  is  not  at  all  probable  he 
will  ever  achieve  a  European  reputation." 

"Then  you  positively  cannot  publish  my  manuscript  ?"  said 
Charles,  in  a  tone  rendered  firm  by  desperation. 

"  I  really  cannot  entertain  the  thought ;  at  least  not  as  a  book. 
Although  since  you  have  been  recommended  to  me  by  my  good 
friend  Mr.  S.,  perhaps  I  might  make  use  of  portions  of  it  oc 
casionally  in  my  magazine." 

"  A  drowning  man  will  catch  at  a  straw,"  says  the  old  adage 
Charles  in  his  despair  caught  at  this  suggestion.  He  could  hope 
but  for  little  remuneration  for  the  short  articles  which  might 
occasionally  appear  in  a  magazine ;  but  he  eagerly  asked  on 
what  terms  Mr.  Jenkins  would  accept  his  shorter  articles  for 
the  magazine. 

"Why,"  replied  the  publisher,  "as  to  terms,  I  could'nt  pay 
anything  at  present,  you  perceive,  till  I  see  how  your  matter 
takes  with  the  public.  By  and  by,  if  it  suited,  I  might  give  a 
trifle,  and  perhaps  increase  the  price  as  we  become  better  ac 
quainted  ;  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  literary  matter  is  a  drug  in 
the  market — a  mere  drug,  Sir.  There  are  so  many  young 
ladies  of  a  literary  turn  of  mind,  Sir  ;  sweet,  amiable,  accom 
plished  creatures,  who  write  for  my  magazine,  to  which  they 
all  subscribe,  and  who  consider  themselves  sufficiently  repaid 
by  seeing  their  compositions  in  print,  that  I  should  really  be 
doing  very  wrong  to  myself  and  my  family  if  I  were  to  pay 
anything.  If,  however,  you  would  like  to  read  one  of  your 


28  THE    WANDERER. 

articles  in  print,  to  oblige  my  friend  Mr.  S.,  I  will  stretch  a 
point,  although  my  magazine  matter  for  the  next  month  is 
nearly  up,  and  insert  one  of  your  articles,  leaving  the  choice  of 
the  subject  to  you." 

"  What  do  you  offer  for  the  article  ?"  eagerly  demanded 
the  young  man,  flushed  with  the  dawning  of  renewed  hope, 
faint  though  it  was. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  send  to  your  address  a  copy  of  my 
magazine,"  returned  the  publisher.  "Three  or  four  copies, 
if  you  like,  for  distribution  among  your  friends." 

Without  replying,  Charles  Dal  ton  seized  his  manuscript,  and 
bowing  to  the  publisher,  proceeded  to  leave  the  office,  when, 
just  as  he  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs,  Mr.  Jenkins  called  to 
him : 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  any  time  you  are 
passing  this  way,  and  if,  at  any  future  time  you  have  any  fresh 
proposals  to  make — why,  perhaps  we  may  come  to  terms." 

"  I  shall  call  upon  you  again,  sir,  when  I  have  achieved  a 
European  reputation,"  sarcastically  replied  the  young  man,  as 
he  closed  the  door. 

"  A  very  singular  young  man  that,  very  presuming,  very," 

observed  the  publisher  to  his  clerk,  "I  wonder  how  S 

came  to  think  of  recommending  him  to  me." 

Charles  descended  the  creaking,  dirty  stairs  rapidly;  but 
when  he  gained  the  open  street  he  paused,  as  if  uncertain 
which  way  to  turn  his  steps.  His  last  feeble  thread  of  hope 
was  broken ;  the  labor  of  three  long  weeks  had  proved  fruit 
less  ;  he  saw  nothing  before  him  but  hopeless  penury.  He 
thought  of  his  wife,  anxiously  awaiting  his  return,  and  almost 
breathed  aloud  the  impious  wish  that  crossed  his  mind,  that 
they  both  had  perished  in  the  ocean  they  had  recently  crossed, 
rather  than  have  lived  to  endure  the  misery  which  appeared  to 
be  in  store  for  them. 

But  soon  better  thoughts  succeeded,  and  breathing  a  prayer 


A    STRANGER'S    DIFFICULTIES.  29 

to  God  that  He  would  not  utterly  forsake  them  in  their  dis 
tress,  he  hastened  back  to  his  wife,  to  pour  out  his  sorrows  into 
her  ears,  and  to  receive  from  her  the  consolation  and  support 
he  had  often  received  in  the  midst  of  the  troubles  that  had 
come  upon  them  during  the  four  months  that  had  closed,  since 
he  had  led  her  to  the  altar,  a  happy  bride. 


30  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER   III. 

In.  which  troubles  thicken,  and  clouds  grow  darker,  until  Charles  fortunately 
becomes  acquainted  with  a  man  of  lurgomind  and  universal  philanthropy. 

Had  people  but  resolution  enough  while  not  cynically  indif 
ferent  to  the  opinions  of  others,  to  be  less  solictitous  about 
what  others  may  think  of  their  own  affairs,  of  what  a  load 
of  trouble  might  they  at  once  relieve  themselves  ! 

At  last  one  half  of  the  toil,  the  anxieties  and  the  fatigues  of 
life,  is  occasioned  by  the  struggle  to  cut  a  figure. 

Charles  Dalton  had  never  been  accustomed  to  manual  labor  ; 
until  within  a  few  months  he  had  never  known  the  want  of 
money;  he  had  quitted  England,  because,  he  could  not  endure 
the  idea  of  descending  in  the  social  scale  in  his  native  land. 
This  was  well  enough,  if  he  had  been  contented  to  forget  what 
he  had  been,  now  that  he  found  himself  in  a  new  country,  in 
which  there  were  abundant  opportunities  of  gaining  a  livelihood, 
if  not  of  carving  out  a  fortune,  although,  perhaps,  not  immedi 
ately  such  opportunities  as  were  most  desirable ;  but  the 
phantom  of  pride  followed  him  across  the  ocean,  and  clung  to 
his  back  still,  with  the  tenacity  of  the  "  Old  man  of  the  Sea," 
in  Sinbad's  wonderful  story.  Had  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
work,  without  thinking  it  absolutely  necessary  that  the  work 
he  engaged  in  must  be  of  his  own  choosing,  he  need  not  have 
been  so  many  weeks  in  the  city  of  New  York,  and  still  have  been 
unemployed.  He  had  proof  of  this  while  he  was  despairingly 
wending  his  weary  way  to  his  hotel ;  indeed  he  had  not  unfre- 


TROUBLES    THICKEN.  31 

quently  met  with  some  one  or  other  of  his  fellow  passengers 
from  England,  men  whom  he  considered  his  inferiors,  although 
he  had  been  compelled  for  the  time  being  to  associate  with 
them  on  shipboard,  but  from  whom  he  had  held  himself  aloof 
as  much  as  possible,  yet  now  these  once  despised  mechanics 
and  laborers,  all  seemed  to  be  doing  better  than  he. 

On  the  present  occasion,  while  walking  moodily  along  Broad- 
w  ay,  deeply  absorbed  in  harassing  thought,  he  was  hailed  by 
a  passer-by.  He  turned,  and  saw  that  the  man  who  had 
addressed  him  by  name  had  occupied,  with  his  wife  and  family, 
the  next  berth  to  his  own  on  shipboard. 

He  \yas  an  uneducated  Irishman — a  bricklayer's  laborer,  with 
whom  Mr.  Dal  ton  had  scarcely  exchanged  a  word  during  the 
voyage;  but  misery  makes  us  eager  for  the  sympathies  of  our 
kind,  regardless  of  the  fictitious  grades  of  civilized  society,  and 
the  kindly  tone  of  the  man's  voice,  and  his  apparent  delight  at 
meeting  with  a  fellow  voyager,  touched  the  heart  of  the  dis 
appointed  young  man,  and  he  heartily  returned  the  Irishman's 
salutation. 

"  Ah,  Dolan  !"  said  he,  "I  am  glad  to  see  you,  you  are  look 
ing  well  and  hearty,  I  hope  you  ore  doing  well  in  New  York1?" 

"Doing  well,  is  it?"  returned  the  Irishman;  "doing  better 
than  iver  1  expected,  Misther  Dal  ton.  Ah!  Sir — this  is  a  grate 
counthry  for  a  poor  man.  No  workin',  for  tin  pence  a  day, 
when  ye  can  get  it;  but  a  dollar  a  day,  an'  plinty  of  work  at 
that,  an'  if  it  be  o'  paper,  sure  it  sarves  the  purpose  as  well  as 
silver." 

"Did  you  soon  succeed  in  getting  work,  Dolan'?"  inquired 
Charles.  "  I  got  work,  sir,"  returned  the  Irishman,  "  afore  I  'd 
been  three  days  in  the  city — in  fact,  as  soon  as  I  had  time  to 
look  about  me,  afther  I  'd  got  me  say  legs  into  shoregoin'  shape 
again,  and  I  Ve  had  work  iver  since." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  of  it,"  replied  Charles,  "and  I'm  glad  to 
see  you  looking  so  well  and  happy." 

"  And  I'm  sorry  I  can't  return  the  compliment,"  continued 


32  THE    WANDERER. 

Dolan.  "  Troth  !  but  you're  lookin'  like  the  shaddy  of  what 
yc  was  on  boord  ship,  Sir,  and  your  face  is  thoughtful  and 
throubled.  Ye'll  excuse  me  for  making  bowld  to  say  so.  An' 
how's  the  good  lady,  Misther  Dalton,  Sir  ?" 

"My  wife  is  pretty  well,  Dolan,"  replied  Charles,  "  but  I 
have  not  been  very  well  lately,  myself.  How  are  your  wife 
and  children  ?" 

"  Quite  well  and  hearty,  Sir,  and  Biddy  she  takes  to  the 
connthry  amazing ;  as  for  Pat,  he's  an  American  right  off  al 
ready,  and  little  Katy,  sure  she's  as  fat  as  a  pig,  the  crather !" 

Charles  shook  hands  with  his  humble  fellow-voyager,  and 
passed  on.  The  temporary  excitement  occasioned  by  the  meet 
ing  soon  subsided,  and  still  more  gloomy  thoughts  took  posses 
sion  of  his  breast. 

"  This  man,"  he  soliloquized,  "  uneducated,  unused  to  the 
refinements  of  life,  satisfied  if  he  can  procure  by  his  daily  toil 
the  simplest  necessaries,  can  find  employment  readily  in  this 
country,  and  obtain  remuneration  sufficient  to  enable  him  to 
supply  himself  with  all  he  needs,  while  with  a  thousand  ad  van 
tages  that  he  does  not  possess,  I  have  nothing  before  me  but 
starvation.  I  should  not  care  if  I  alone  were  concerned  ;  but 
my  poor  Mary  !  what  will  become  of  her  if  things  continue  thus  ? 

He  had  gained  the  hotel,  and  passing  in  by  the  private  en 
trance,  he  ascended  to  the  room  occupied  by  his  wife  and  him 
self: 

Mrs.  Dalton  rose  from  the  sofa  on  which  she  had  been  sit 
ting,  and  welcomed  him  home  with  a  kiss.  She  did  not  speak, 
but  there  wras  anxious  expectation  in  her  look,  and  he  met 
and  understood  the  interrogative  glance  of  her  eye. 

"  Disappointed,  as  usual,  my  love."  was  his  response,  "  I 
see  no  probability,  present  or  prospective,  of  obtaining  em 
ployment,  such  as  I  am  fitted  for." 

Oh,  Charles,  Charles  !  there  was  the  rock  upon  which  you 
split !  No  work  that  you  were  fitted  for !  Then  why  not  seek 
other  work,  and  watch  narrowly,  but  wait  patiently  for  the 
opportunity  of  engaging  in  more  agreeable  employment?" 


TROUBLES   THICKEN".  33 

The  young  man  had  endeavored  to  speak  in  a  cheerful  tone 
of  voice,  but  the  keen,  anxious  ear  of  his  young  wife  was  not 
to  be  deceived.  She  saw  that  his  cheerfulness  was  assumed 
and  knew  that  it  was  assumed  for  her  sake. 

"Do  not  despair,  dear  Charles,"  she  replied,  "surely  if 
you  have  failed  again  to-day  it  will  not  be  always  so. 
Success  may  attend  your  efforts  to-morrow.  We  shall  not  be 
permitted  to  starve  in  this  favored  land,  of  which  we  have  heard 
so  much  and  entertained  such  pleasing  anticipations." 

Poor  child  !  she  was  little  more  than  a  child  in  years  although 
eight  months  a  wife.  She  smiled  as  she  spoke  and  threw  her 
arms  around  her  husband's  neck.  The  light  from  the  window 
shone  full  upon  her  fair  young  face,  and  as  her  husband 
returned  her  embrace,  he  observed  that  she  had  been  crying. 

"  What  has  been  the  matter,  Mary  ?"  he  asked.  "  Your 
poor  eyes  are  swollen  with  weeping,  darling." 

"  Oh  nothing,"  she  replied.  "I  have  been  foolish,  that's  all. 
I  am  so  lonesome  here  when  you  are  absent,  Charles." 

"That  is  not  all,  Mary,"  said  Charles,  "something  more 
than  usual  has  happened  to  give  you  annoyance  ;  tell  me  what 
it  is." 

"Promise  not  to  be  angry,  then,  and  I  will,"  returned  Mrs. 
Dalton.  "  You  will  promise  1" 

"  If  possible  I  will  not  permit  myself  to  be  annoyed,  my 
dear,"  he  replied. 

"  Because,"  continued  his  wife,  "  I  have  arranged  everything 
so  nicely,  that  I  am  sure  you  will  be  pleased,  and  we  shall 
have  means  to  support  ourselves  a  few  weeks  longer  till  you 
do  get  something  to  do,  and  then  you  know,  you  are  so  clever 
that  when  once  people  know  what  you  can  do,  you  will  have 
more  to  do  than  you  will  be  able  to  find  time  for ;  and  our 
expenses  will  not  be  so  heavy  as  they  are  at  this  hotel — and — " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mary  ?"  impatiently  demanded  Charles, 
contemplating  his  wife.  "  I  cannot  understand  your  meaning. 
Has  any  one  dared  to  insult  you1?" 


34  THE    WANDERER. 

"  It  is  simply  this,  Charles,"  she  replied,  "  you  know  we  made 
a  little  miscalculation,  and  that  manuscript  took  so  long  to 
write,  and  our  bill  was  not  paid  on  Saturday  night,  so  while 
you  were  absent  to  day,  the  landlord  sent  it  in,  and  he  demands 
immediate  payment.  Now,  I  see  you  are  going  to  be  angry, 
although  you  promised  me  you  would  keep  your  temper.  You 
know  he  knows  nothing  of  us  beyond  Captain  Ly man's  recom 
mendation.  His  message  was  very  civil ;  but  the  waiter  said 
his  boss,  so  he  termed  his  employer,  had  had  an  offer  from 
another  person  to  engage  the  room  permanently,  and  unless 
we  could  give  reference  and  engage  to  remain  for  some  definite 
period,  he  would  be  glad  if  we  could  vacate  the  apartment  as 
soon  as  convenient." 

"  Cursed,  impudent  scoundrel !"  muttered  Charles,  between 
his  teeth. 

"  Now,  Charles,  you  said  you  wouldn  't  get  angry  and  there 
is  really  no  occasion  for  you  to  do  so,"  continued  Mrs.  Dalton. 
"  You  don't  know  how  cleverly  I  have  arranged  matters.  All 
the  money  we  brought  with  us  is  spent;  but  we  have  means  of 
obtaining  more,  that  you  are  not  aware  of.  I  have  never  shown 
you  the  jewelry  left  me  by  my  aunt,  shortly  before  we  left 
home.  I  kept  its  posession  a  secret  when  I  found  that  you  had 
resolved  upon  going  to  America,  in  anticipation  of  some  such 
occasion  as  this  when  it  would  be  of  service.  It  is  old  fash 
ioned,  but  really  valuable,  Charles.  I  should  not  like  to  part 
with  it  altogether  for  poor  aunt  Mary's  sake;  but  I  have  heard 
there  are  places  in  which  loans  can  be  obtained  on  such  trinkets, 
and  where  they  can  be  redeemed  when  better  times  come  round 
to  the  owners — are  there  not  such  places,  Charles  1  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  moodily,  "but  your  little  orna 
ments,  dear,  must  never  go  there." 

"Do  not  say  so,  Charles  ;  what  are  my  ornaments  to  me, 
when  you  are  in  want  of  money — indeed  but  for  poor  aunt's 
sake  I  should  care  nothing  about  them — you  know  I  never 
wear  them.  I  should  like  to  dispose  of  them  temporarily  in 


TEOUBLES   THICKEN.  35 

that  manner ;  then  we  can  pay  the  bill  due  to  our  landlord  and 
get  cheaper  lodgings." 

"  I'm  sure  there  must  be  many  places  where  we  can  get  rooms, 
quite  sufficiently  comfortable,  at  half  the  price  we  pay  here ; 
and  the  trinkets  ought  to  fetch  a  good  deal  of  money.  There 
are  a  pair  of  ruby  earrings,  and  a  diamond  ring,  and 
breastpin;  so  you  see,  dear  Charles,  that  we  are  not  so  desti 
tute  as  you  thought." 

It  was  quite  a  surprise  to  Mr.  Dalton,  this  revelation  of  his 
wife's  hidden  wealth  of  jewelry,  and  although  his  pride  revolt 
ed  at  the  idea  of  visiting  the  pawnbroker's  shop  or  the  office 
of  the  money  lender,  poverty  had  so  blunted  the  edge  of  his 
sensibilities,  that  after  some  faint  show  of  opposition,  he  prom 
ised  to  try  what  he  could  effect  in  the  way  of  raising  money  oil 
these  heir-looms  on  the  following  day.  Indeed  the  prospect  of 
temporarily  relieving  himself  from  his  difficulties  even  by  these 
humiliating  means,  rendered  him  comparatively  cheerful.  He 
sent  down  to  the  office  a  message,  informing  the  landlord, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  of  abundant  means,  that  his  bill  should 
be  paid  on  the  following  day,  and  that  he  should  leave  the  hotel 
at  his  earliest  convenience,  and  he  and  his  wife  sat  up  till  a 
late  hour  of  the  evening  chatting  together  hopefully  over  many 
Utopian  schemes. 

The  next  day,  fifty  dollars  was  advanced  at  a  loan  office  on 
the  articles  of  jewelry — the  hotel  bill  was  duly  paid,  and  before 
night  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dalton  had  removed  into  cheap  but  com 
fortable  private  lodgings. 

But  still  weeks  passed  away,  and  nothing  came  of  all  Mr. 
Dalton's  endeavors  to  obtain  employment.  The  hotel  bill  and 
other  necessary  expenses  consequent  upon  their  removal,  had 
considerably  lessened  the  amount  of  the  sum  received  from  the 
money  lender — and  at  the  expiration  of  other  four  weeks  they 
found  themselves  again  utterly  destitute.  The  daily  and  weekly 
newspapers  had  been  searched  through  and  through  with  the 
hope  that  something  available  might  be  found  in  the  advertis- 


36  THE    WANDERER. 

ing  columns ;  but  in  vain,  and  Charles  began  to  give  way  to 
utter  despair,  when  one  morning  as  he  was  about  to  go  out  to 
v,  ander  through  the  streets,  he  knew  not  where,  he  was  startled 
by  an  expression  of  joy  from  his  wife,  who  was  anxiously  scan 
ning  the  columns  of  the  New  York  Mirror. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mary  ?"  he  asked.  "  Here  is  an 
advertisement  which  will  exactly  suit  you,  Charles,"  was  her 
reply — listen ; 

"To    GENTLEMEN    OF    EDUCATION,    ACCUSTOMED    TO     LITERARY 

LABOR. — Required  immediately,  a  gentleman  to  assist  in  the 
editorial  department  of  a  new  daily  paper.  He  must  be  tho 
roughly  conversant  with  European  politics,  and  fully  compe 
tent  to  undertake  the  sole  charge  of  the  literary  department  of 
the  journal,  and  willing  to  devote  his  whole  time  and  attention 
to  his  duties.  A  knowledge  of  the  French  language  is  essen 
tial,  and  one  who  understands  and  can  read  well  Spanish,  Ger 
man  and  Italian,  will  be  preferred.  The  salary  will  be  liberal, 
and  as  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  success  of  the  paper, 
the  situation  may  be  considered  a  permanent  one.  Apply  to 
A.  B.  at  the  office  of  the  New  York  Mirror" 

"  There,  Charles,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  when  she  had  finished 
reading  the  advertisement.  "There  is  something  that  will 
perfectly  suit  you,  you  speak  nearly  all  the  languages  of  the 
southern  portion  of  the  continent  of  Europe,  and  are  familiar 
with  European  politics.  I  knew  that  something  would  turn  up, 
after  all." 

"  But  my  dear,"  said  Charles  smiling  at  his  young  wife's  enthus 
iasm  ;  "  I  may  not  obtain  the  situation,  even  if  I  apply  for  it ; 
there  may  be  fifty  applicants  besides  myself,  and  then  I  don't 
understand  a  word  of  the  German  language,  and  you  know 
that  is  specially  mentioned.1' 

"  No,  Charles,  French  is  essential,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton — read 
ing  again  from  the  paper,  "  one  who  speaks  German  and  the 
other  languages  will  be  preferred" — and  as  to  fifty  applicants, 
why,  there  can't  be  so  many  persons,  qualified  for  the  situation 


TROUBLES    THICKEN.  37 

in  New  York — at  least,"  she  added,  "  fifty  qualified  persons  out 
of  employment,  you  know."  "  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  my 
dear ;  there  may  not  be  fifty  persons  whose  qualifications  are 
equal  to  the  requirements  of  the  advertiser ;  but  I  doubt  not 
there  are  that  number  of  persons  in  the  city  fully  as  well  qual 
ified  as  myself." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Charles  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  Since  I  have  been  in  New  York,  my  ideas 
respecting  my  particular  abilities  have  become  much  modified." 

"  But  you  will  make  application  ?"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  appa 
rently  disappointed  with  the  tenor  of  her  husband's  remarks. 

"  Undoubtedly,  my  dear.  I  will  write  to  the  office  at  once." 
And  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter,  honestly  stating  his  actual 
qualifications  for  the  duty  required,  and  then  bidding  his  wife 
farewell  for  the  day,  left  his  lodgings  to  tread  his  customary 
weary  round,  and  as  he  passed  the  Mirror  office,  he  left  the  let 
ter  according  to  the  directions. 

The  day  passed  away  with  the  usual  result.  Wearied  and 
sick  at  heart  with  hope  deferred,  Mr.  Dalton  returned  at  night 
having  met  with  no  success. 

"  No  answer  has  been  sent  to  that  letter  I  wrote  to  A.  B. 
this  morning,  I  suppose,  Mary  ?"  he  observed  to  his  wife  when 
he  entered  the  room,  on  his  return. 

"  None  yet,  Charles,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Of  course,  I  knew  there  would  be  none.  I  might  have 
known  that  I  should  meet  with  disappointment  when  I  wrote 
it." 

"  But,  Charles,"  interposed  his  wife,  "  there  has  not  yet  been 
time.  An  answer  may  come  to-morrow  morning." 

"  I  don't  expect  any  answer  at  all — I  never  did,"  was  the 
rather  sulky  reply  of  the  young  man,  and  no  further  allusion 
was  made  to  the  subject  that  night. 

The  next  morning,  however,  just  as  Mr.  Dalton  was  prepar 
ing  to  go  out,  the  postman's  knock  was  heard  at  the  door. 
Mrs.  Dalton  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  listened  eagerly. 


38  THE    WANDERER. 

"  A  letter  for  Mr.  Charles  Dalton,"  said  the  man  ;  and  Mrs. 
Dalton  almost  flew  down  stairs  to  receive  it.  In  a  few  mo 
ments  she  had  returned  breathless  to  the  room,  with  the  letter 
in  her  possession. 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  so.  I  knew  there  would  be  an  answer, 
Charles,"  she  said,  as  she  handed  it  to  her  husband.  "  Now, 
am  I  not  a  true  prophet." 

Charles  did  not  reply.  He  had  opened  the  letter  and  was 
reading  the  contents.  They  were  brief,  and  ran  thus  : — 

"  A.  B.  has  received  Mr.  Dalton's  letter  and  will  be  glad  to 
see  him  at  No.  —  Hudson  street,  at  eight  o'clock  this  evening, 
and  talk  matters  over.  A.  B.  thinks  it  very  probable  that 
Mr.  Dalton  and  he  will  be  able  to  come  to  satisfactory  terms." 

"  There,  did'nt  I  say  so1?  didn't  I  know  it?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Dalton,  perfectly  overjoyed,  as  she  listened  to  the  contents, 
read  aloud  by  her  husband,  after  he  had  first  silently  perused 
them. 

"  I  have  not  got  the  situation  yet,  my  dear,"  said  Charles, 
smiling  at  his  young  wife's  earnestness,  "  and  I  have  not  now 
to  learn  that  there  are  many  disappointments  even  when  things 
appear  most  secure.  You  must  not  be  too  sanguine,  Mary. 
Perhaps  nothing  may  come  of  this ;  however,  I  don't  think  I 
shall  go  out  to-day.  I  am  weary  of  vainly  walking  the  streets 
of  this  city.  I  will  stay  at  home  with  you,  and  in  the  evening 
will  call  according  to  the  request  contained  in  this  letter." 

It  is  singular  how  people  will  sometimes  trouble  themselves 
to  discover  that  which  it  is  quite  impossible  for  them  ever  to 
guess  at  with  any  possibility  of  success,  and  how,  at  the  same 
time,  they  will  give  themselves  the  trouble  of  guessing  and 
surmising,  when  it  is  in  their  power  to  discover  the  secret  at 
once.  A  letter  is  sometimes  received  and  turned  over  and  over, 
the  seal  examined,  and  the  handwriting  subjected  to  a  rigid 
criticism,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  recipient  in  regard  to  the 
name  of  the  writer  and  the  object  he  had  in  writing,  when  he 
could  at  once  satisfy  himself  by  breaking  the  seal  and  opening 


TROUBLES    THICKEN.  39 

and  reading  the  letter.  In  the  present  instance  it  was  utterly 
out  of  the  power  of  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Dalton  to  form  the  least  idea 
who  was  the  person  who  shrouded  himself  under  the  mysteri 
ous  letters  A.  B.,  and  it  was  equally  impossible  for  them  to 
guess  the  name  or  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  a  newspaper 
which  had  as  yet  no  existence,  and  the  advent  of  which  had 
not  as  yet  been  publicly  announced.  Yet  still  they  did  trouble 
their  heads  the  whole  day  to  do  both,  until  the  futile  endeavor 
became  positively  annoying,  and  the  hours  till  eight  o'clock 
passed  so  slowly  away  that  the  day  seemed  thrice  as  long  as 
any  ordinary  day. 

Half  past  seven  o'clock  carne,  however,  at  last,  and  Mr  Dal 
ton  sallied  forth  to  the  appointed  rendezvous,  leaving  his  wife 
in  a  state  of  great  anxiety  and  himself  feeling  no  little  nervous 
excitement,  as  he  drew  near  the  house. 

It  was  a  dwelling-house  of  ordinary  pretensions,  and  evident 
ly  occupied  as  a  boarding-house,  for  a  dozen  or  more  gentle 
men  were  coming  up  stairs  from  the  tea-table  as  Mr.  Dalton 
stood  in  the  passage-way,  after  having  been  admitted  by  the 
servant  maid.  It  was  a  strange  thing  to  ask  for  Mr.  A.  B., 
but  Mr.  Dalton  had  no  clue  to  the  real  name  of  the  gentleman 
he  had  called  to  see,  and  the  servant,  unable  to  understand 
who  he  meant,  had  recourse  to  the  landlady. 

This  lady,  it  appeared,  had  received  her  instructions  from 
the  veritable  A.  B.  himself,  for  she  requested  Mr.  Dalton  to 
walk  into  the  parlor,  and  in  a  few  moments  a  stout,  portly 
gentleman  presented  himself. 

"  Mr.  Dalton  V  he  said,  addressing  Charles. 

"  That  is  my  name,  Sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  My  name,  Sir,  is  Biggin — Amos  Biggin,"  said  the  portly 
gentleman.  "  You  have  called,  Sir,  in  reply  to  a  note  1  sent 
you  this  morning'?" 

Mr.  Dalton  said  that  such  was  the  case. 

"  I  am  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Sir,  and  let  mo 
hope,  that  our  acquaintance,  now  formed  for  the  first  time,  may 


40  THE    WANDERER. 

be  of  long  duration,"  said  the  gentleman ;  "  but  we  must  con 
verse  in  private.  The  fact  is,  it  is  not  generally  known  that  I 
am  about  to  publish  a  new  paper,  Sir.  It  is  an  arduous  task, 
Sir  ;  one  that  requires  a  great  deal  of  consideration,  and  in 
volves  vast  interests;  but,  Sir,  humanity  requires  it;  the  retro 
grading  social  and  political  condition  of  the  country — which  no 
person  holding  sentiments  of  universal  philanthropy  can  view 
without  dismay — demands  it,  Sir,  and  1  am  resolved  to  make 
the  hazardous  venture;  aye,  Sir,  and  if  necessary,  not  only  to 
spend  my  whole  time,  and  my  whole  talent,  and  the  whole 
amount  of  my  pecuniary  resources,  but  to  sacrifice  myself  on 
the  altar  of  patriotism,  sooner  than  relinquish  the  long  cherished 
idea  of  starting  in  this  great  city  one  honest,  fearless,  independ- 
ant  journal,  which  shall  be  the  mouth-piece  of  the  people,  and 
the  exponent  of  the  true  principles  of  liberty,  patriotism,  and 
philanthropy.  But  please  to  follow  me  up  stairs  to  my  own 
room,  Sir,  where  we  can  talk  the  matter  over  quietly  and 
come  to  a  mutual  understanding,  and  I  hope  to  satisfactory 
terms." 

Charles  followed  the  portly  gentleman  to  his  room  on  the 
second  floor,  wondering  greatly  why  he  had  spoken  so  loudly 
and  with  such  vehemence  if  he  wished  to  keep  the  matter  a 
secret  from  the  other  members  of  the  household,  who  could 
have  hardly  helped  hearing  all  he  had  said,  and  somewhat 
scandalized  at  the  thought  that  in  the  great  city  of  New  York, 
where  there  were  several  newspapers,  there  should  be  such 
urgent  necessity  for  one  honest,  fearless,  independent  journal, 
that  should  be  conducted  under  the  guidance  of  truly  liberal, 
patriotic,  and  philanthropic  principles  :  for  of  course,  the  infer 
ence  to  be  drawn  was,  that  among  those  which  existed,  there 
were  none  possessing  those  sterling  qualities. 


A  MODERN   PHILANTHROPIST.  41 


CHAPTER    IV. 

In  which  the  principles  that  govern  a  true  Philanthropist  are  explained,  if 
the  reader  chooses  to  accept  the  explanation. 

MR.  AMOS  BIGGIN  was  a  philanthropist,  not,  perhaps,  accord 
ing  to  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  that  much  misunderstood 
noun-substantive,  but  a  philanthropist  in  the  broadest  sense. 
Mr.  Amos  Biggin  had  never  been  known  to  give  away  a  cent 
to  a  beggar,  or  to  assist  any  individual  in  distress,  whether  the 
case  was  a  deserving  one  or  not.  Even  had  he  been  a  rich 
man,  which  he  was  not,  being  himself  often  very  much  in  need 
of  money  for  necessary  purposes,  he  would  not  have  expended 
a  shilling  for  the  relief  of  individual  distress.  He  held  to  the 
belief  that  it  was  necessary  to  the  well-being  of  society  that 
there  should  be  a  proportionate  amount  of  misery  and  poverty 
in  the  world,  and  that  to  endeavor  to  ameliorate  the  condition 
of  the  poor  was  to  fly  directly  in  the  face  of  Providence.  Provi 
dence,  he  was  used  to  say,  had  willed  it  so,  and  if  Providence 
wished  it  otherwise,  Providence  could  change  the  face  of  things 
when  it  chose.  Poverty  was  like  salt,  very  nauseous  in  itself, 
but  very  grateful  when  used  to  flavor  other  food.  The  best 
cooked  viands  would  be  tasteless  without  that  condiment,  and 
in  like  manner,  the  utmost  wealth  would  fail  to  gratify  its 
owner,  if  he  were  unable  to  contrast  his  abundance  with  the 
necessities  of  others.  But  inasmuch  as  regarded  general  pa 
naceas  for  the  universal  benefit  of  the  human  race,  Mr.  Amos 
Biggin  was  a  man  of  large  grasp  of  mind — a  true  philanthro- 


42  THE    WANDERER. 

pist.  Had  he  flourished  twenty  or  thirty  years  later,  he  would 
have  been  just  the  man  to  take  a  prominent  position  in  the 
"  vote  yourself  a  farm"  movement,  or  to  have  originated  the 
benevolent  idea  of  the  gift  lotteries.  The  gold  pen  gift  socie 
ty  would  have  thrown  him  into  ecstacies.  The  magnificent 
project  of  placing  a  gold  pen  into  the  hands  of  every  man, 
woman  and  child  in  the  United  States,  at  the  cost  of  one  dollar 
each,  and  the  chance  of  obtaining  a  gift,  besides,  ranging  in 
value  from  a  magnificent  brown  stone  dwelling  house,  with 
stabling,  outhouses,  and  all  necessary  conveniences,  to  a  bundle 
of  dried,  sweet-scented  herbs  done  up  in  painted  paper,  would 
have  set  him  wild  with  excitement.  To  have  presided  at  the 
head  of  such  a  society,  and  to  have  received  the  gold  dollars, 
as  he  handed  out  the  gold  pens,  would  have  been  to  him  the 
height  of  human  felicity.  "  Ah  !"  he  would  have  thought  to 
himself,  as  he  dealt  out  the  thin  pieces  of  glittering  metal,  and 
heard  the  rustling  of  the  crisp  bank  paper — or  the  ring  of  the 
sonorous  coin,  that  he  received  in  exchange,  "  ah  !  what  glo 
rious  thoughts  shall  permeate  throughout  the  universe  when 
every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the  land  shall  with  these  gold 
pens  give  tangible  form  to  the  secret  aspirations  of  their  souls  ! 
Henceforward  no  "mute,  inglorious  Miltons  shall  rest  un 
known,  and  if  Cromwells  are  still  guiltless  of  their  country's 
blood,  they  shall  freely  spill  their  country's  ink." — But  un 
fortunately  for  Mr.  Amos  Biggin,  he  lived  thirty  years  ago, 
before  these  grand  ideas  were  fully  developed,  still  he  had 
tried  his  hand  in  various  philanthropic  movements  of  a  similar 
kind,  though  perhaps  less  lofty  in  their  flight,  as  the  reader 
will  in  due  time  perceive. 

"  Mr.  Dalton,"  said  Mr.  Biggin,  when  the  two  gentlemen 
were  seated  in  the  private  apartment  of  the  latter,  which  apart 
ment,  by  the  way,  was  by  no  means  calculated  to  impress  the 
visitor  very  favorably  in  regard  to  the  pecuniary  prospects  of 
the  owner, — for  it  was  evident  that  cither  from  motives  of  ec 
centricity  or  economy,  Mr.  Biggin's  apartment  served  him  for 


A   MODERN   PHILANTHROPIST.  43 

bedroom,  and  parlor  and  all,  and  was  not  over  large  at  that. 
"  Mr.  Dalton,  you  have  called  upon  me  to  obtain  an  engage 
ment  on  the  new  paper  I  propose  to  start  1" 

Charles  intimated  that  such  was  his  object ;  indeed,  the  ques 
tion  was  quite  unnecessary  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Biggin;  and 
was  merely  put  by  way  of  opening  the  subject. 

"  You  are  aware  of  the  qualifications  that  I  deem  necessary  ?" 
continued  that  gentleman. 

Charles  said  that  he  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  qualifications 
demanded  in  the  advertisement ;  but,  he  observed,  he  was 
afraid  that  if  they  were  indispensable,  that  further  conversation 
would  be  needless,  for  he  didn't  understand  German  and  had 
but  a  slight  knowledge  of  Spanish. 

"A  mere  trivial  matter,"  said  Mr.  Biggin,  carelessly, 
"  you  understand  French  ?" 

"  Yes,  French  and  Italian." 

"  Good — very  good  ;  and  you  have  a  tolerable  acquaintance 
with  European  affairs — political,  social,  and  so  forth  ?" 

Charles  intimated  that  he  was  tolerably  well  read  in  Euro 
pean  history,  ancient  and  modern,  and  that  having  travelled 
considerably  on  the  continent,  he  thought  he  might  venture 
to  say  that  he  was  as  well  acquainted  with  European  affairs 
socially  and  politically,  as  most  men  who  had  not  had  occasion 
to  make  the  subject  their  special  study. 

"  Again — very  good,"  observed  Mr.  Biggin.  "  And  of 
course  you  are  a  ready  and  facile  writer  ?" 

Charles  intimated  again,  that  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
original  composition  from  his  boyhood  upwards,  and  had  no 
doubt  that  by  dint  of  a  little  practice  he  would  find  no  difficulty 
on  that  score. 

"  Then  if  we  can  agree  upon  certain  other  points,  such  as 
salary  and  political  principles,  and  so  forth,  we  may  consider 
the  matter  settled,"  answered  Mr.  Biggin ;  "  but  before  I 
proceed  further,  let  me  explain  to  you  my  motive  in  starting 
a  new  paper.  You  are  aware,  sir,  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of 
u  general  election  T' 


44  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Charles.  "  I  understood  that  the  general 
election  was  to  take  place  in  November  next.  This  is  January. 
And  it  is  not  until  March  of  next  year  that  the  new  President, 
whoever  he  may  be,  will  take  his  seat." 

"  Exactly  so.  When  I  said  we  were  on  the  eve  of  a  general 
election,  I  meant  that  the  active  members  of  the  body  politic, 
the  men  who  guide  the  people  in  their  choice  of  a  fitting  can 
didate,  or  in  other  words,  who  feel  the  pulses  of  the  public, 
and  have  control  of  the  secret  strings  which  set  the  political 
machinery  in  motion,  are  now  actively  but  secretly  bestirring 
themselves,  and  it  has  struck  me  that  an  honest,  independent, 
and  incorruptible  organ  of  public  opinion  is  especially  needed 
at  this  critical  period." 

"  I  should  have  thought,  sir,"  said  Charles,  "  seeing  that  each 
of  the  two  great  parties  has  its  especial  advocate  in  this  city, 
and  I  presume  in  every  other  city  in  the  Union,  that  there 
would  be  hardly  room  for  a  new  newspaper,  especially  as  inde 
pendently  of  the  leading  journals,  there  are  others  already  in 
the  arena  of  politics,  and  ready,  I  imagine,  when  the  occasion 
calls  for  it  to  take  an  active  part  therein." 

"  The  very  reason,  sir,  that  a  new  paper  should  be  started. 
Among  all  the  journals  of  this  city  there  does  not  exist  one 
truly  honest,  independent  sheet.  The  writers  for  the.  press, 
sir,  are  all  actuated  by  the  love  of  gain — sordid  gain,  either  in 
the  shape  of  money  or  place.  There  is  not  one  among  them 
\vho  would  do  what  it  is  especially  the  province  and  privilege 
of  a  journalist  to  do,  be  ready  to  sacrifice  himself,  if  need  be, 
for  the  happiness,  the  prosperity,  and  the  liberties  of  the 
people.  What  political  principles  do  you  affect,  Mr.  Dalton]" 

"  I  am  but  recently  arrived  in  this  country,  sir,  as  I  informed 
you  in  the  letter  I  sent  to  the  Mirror  office,  and  have,  of  course, 
attached  myself  as  yet  to  no  political  party." 

"Ah  !  I  am  glad  to  hear  that ;  you  will  be  all  the  more  capable 
of  writing  fearlessly  and  independently  respecting  all  parties." 

"  May  I  ask,  sir,"  said  Charles,  "  whether  you  belong  to  the 
Whig  or  Democratic  party  V 


A   MODERN  PHILANTHROPIST.  45 

"  I  belong,  sir,  to  that  party  among  my  countrymen  who 
are  in  favor  of  the  widest  liberty,  the  most  perfect  independence, 
and  the  purest  philanthropy.  I  shall  hold  myself  aloof  from 
party  while  the  preliminary  arrangements  are  making  for  the 
coming  contest.  I  shall  feel  my  way,  sir,  shrewdly  and  cau 
tiously,  giving  a  hit  here  and  a  cut  there,  as  I  see  occasion  for 
it,  and  when  the  moment  arrives  for  prompt  action,  I  shall 
throw  my  weight,  and  that  of  the  independent  party  to  whom 
I  at  present  look  for  support,  in  behalf  of  that  party  which 
appears  most  likely  to  suit  the  requirements  of  the  times." 

Mr.  Biggin  might  as  well  have  said  in  behalf  of  that  party 
which  would  pay  the  best,  or  that  seemed  most  likely  to  step 
in  and  win,  for,  in  spite  of  his  circumlocution  and  pompous 
declamation,  Charles  possessed  sufficient  sagacity  to  perceive 
that  the  only  object  of  this  man  in  starting  a  newspaper  was  to 
take  advantage  of  the  excitement  anticipated  during  the  forth 
coming  election,  and  to  make  money  by  pandering  to  the  pre 
judices  of  politicians  of  either  side,  who,  in  the  hope  of  sharing 
some  of  the  spoils  of  office,  would  make  use  of  any  means 
whatever  that  promised  to  bring  them  into  notice.  He.  how 
ever,  said  nothing,  and  Mr.  Biggin  resumed  : — 

"  My  paper,  our  paper,  I  should  say,  for  the  journal  will  be 
started  by  a  subscription  raised  by  a  society  of  independent 
gentlemen,  who  have  done  me  the  honor  of  selecting  me  for  its 
editor,  on  the  first  day  of  February  next.  It  will  be  called  The 
Trumpeter  of  Freedom,  a  noble  name,  indicative,  I  trust  of  the 
generous  purpose  that  will  give  it  birth,  and  of  the  noble  end 
its  projectors  have  in  view.  I  feel  satisfied  that  in  you  I  shall 
find  a  willing  and  able  assistant.  What  salary  shall  you  ex 
pect1?  I  shall  be  able  to  offer  but  a  very  moderate  amount  at 
first,  and  if  the  paper  succeed,  as  I  have  no  doubt  it  will,  the 
salary  shall  be  raised  accordingly." 

"  I  should  wish  to  have  my  duties  specially  defined  before 
I  speak  of  salary,"  said  Charles. 

"  Your  duties,  sir,  will  not  be  onerous,  although  they  will  be 


46  THE    WANDERER. 

such  as  will  keep  you  actively  employed.  I  will  give  the  tone 
to  all  the  political  articles,  and,  as  a  general  thing,  will  write 
the  leaders.  You  will  collect  the  general  news,  attend  to  the 
literary  department,  write  the  puffs,  the  critiques,  I  mean,  and 
do  the  foreign  correspondence  and  attend  to  everything  else 
that  may  be  necessary." 

"A  pretty  arduous  task,  take  it  altogether,"  said  Charles ; 
"  but  there  is  one  thing  I  do  not  exactly  comprehend  1  What 
do  you  allude  to  when  you  speak  of  doing  the  foreign  corre 
spondence  ?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  Mr.  Dalton,"  explained  Mr.  Biggin,  "  all 
the  leading  journals  throughout  the  country  publish  a  foreign 
correspondent's  letter,  some  of  them  several,  once  a  month  or 
so,  when  the  packet  arrives  with  the  European  mails.  Now, 
our  paper  cannot  afford  to  pay  the  high  remuneration  de 
manded  by  foreign  correspondents,  so  you  will  be  expected  to 
read  the  foreign  papers  when  they  arrive,  and  dish  up  a  letter 
on  such  occasions ;  do  you  take  1  That  was  my  object  in 
advertising  for  a  gentleman  conversant  with  the  languages 
of  continental  Europe." 

"  I  understand  you,  sir,"  said  Charles,  smiling  at  what  to 
him  appeared  the  absurdity  of  such  a  procedure.  "  To  do  all 
this  will  require  a  great  deal  of  time  and  attention,  but  I  shall 
leave  the  salary  to  you,  only  trusting  that  it  will  be  as  liberal 
as  the  paper  can  afford." 

"Humph!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Biggin,  after  remaining  silent 
for  some  moments.  "  I  have  observed  that  we  shall  start  poor, 
very  poor ;  I  should  say  that  to  commence  with — mind,  I  say, 
only  to  commence  with  six  dollars  a  week,  will  be  as  much  as 
we  can  conscientiously  afford." 

Charles  had  expected  that  Mr.  Biggin  would  name  at  least 
twice  that  sum,  and  he  staggered  at  the  offer  that  was  made. 

"  Six  dollars  a  week,  sir !"  he  exclaimed.  "  That  will  be 
quite  inadequate  to  the  decent  support  of  myself  and  my 
wife." 


A  MODERN   PHILANTHROPIST.  47 

"  I  do  not  think  we  can  afford  more,"  said  Mr.  Biggin ; 
but  seeing  the  hesitation  of  the  young  man,  and  believing  that 
he  had  found  in  him  a  man  of  education  and  talent  well  suited 
to  his  purposes,  he  increased  the  munificent  offer  to  seven  dol 
lars. 

Charles  still  demurred,  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  reason 
able  salary,  although  he  really  would  have  accepted  the  first 
offer  rather  than  have  refused  the  situation.  Fortunately, 
however,  Mr.  Biggin  was  not  aware  of  what  was  passing  in 
his  mind,  and  finally  the  offer  was  raised  to  nine  dollars  per 
week,  and  the  arrangement  settled. 

Charles  Dalton  returned  home  in  high  glee  to  inform  his 
wife  of  his  good  fortune  and  to  receive  her  congratulations  as 
the  assistant  editor  of  The  Trumpeter  of  Freedom  that  was  on 
the  following  week  to  sound  its  notes  of  defiance  in  the  ears 
of  the  sordid  trucklers  to  mammon  and  political  sycophancy, 
and  to  rejoice  the  hearts  of  the  truly  independent  and  liberty- 
loving  citizens  of  New-York. 

It  was  but  a  few  weeks  after  he  had  commenced  his  engage 
ment  on  The  Trumpeter  of  Freedom  that  my  hero  was  ushered 
into  the  world. 


48  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  V. 

In  which  Mr  Dalton's  unhappy  career  is  brought  to  a  premature  close. 

MR.  D ALTON  continued  to  labor  at  his  multifarious  duties  in 
the  office  of  the  Trumpeter  of  Freedom ;  working  early  and 
late,  generally  leaving  home  at  ten  in  the  forenoon  and  not 
returning  until  long  past  midnight,  when  the  last  item  was  set 
up  by  the  compositors,  the  forms  locked  up  and  the  paper  dis 
patched  to  the  press  room.  His  labors  were  indeed  more  mul 
tifarious  than  he  had  even  anticipated,  for  Mr.  Biggin  scarcely 
ever  wrote  a  line  for  the  paper.  His  duties  were  chiefly  con 
fined  to  mingling  with  politicians  of  that  class  which  was  will 
ing  to  listen  to  the  arguments  of  a  man  of  his  description,  and 
whose  only  object  in  becoming  politicians  at  all,  was  to  wriggle 
themselves  into  some  petty  official  position,  and  in  occasionally 
taking  a  tour  into  the  country,  for  the  purpose  of  "stump 
speaking"  as  it  is  technically  termed.  For  this  work  he  was 
specially  adapted,  since  he  had  for  several  years  been  in  the  prac 
tice  of  travelling  through  the  country  in  various  vocations, 
pompously  advocating  the  several  schemes  in  which  he  had 
engaged  in  the  endeavor  to  push  his  fortune.  He  was  of  little 
assistance  to  Mr.  Dalton  when  he  did  condescend  to  write,  for  his 
acquaintance  with  Lindlay  Murray  was  very  limited,  and  it  in 
volved  more  irksome  labor  to  correct  his  declamations  and  his 
defamatory  leaders  than  it  required  to  write  an  original  article. 

Months  passed  away,  but  the  promised  increase  of  salary 
was  as  far  off  as  ever.  In  fact  the  paper  was  only  supported 
by  temporary  and  not  very  honorable  expedients,  and  was 


A    BRIEF    CAREER.  49 

never,  in  fact,  in  a  position  to  render  an  increase  of  salary 
probable.  At  length  the  month  of  November  arrived  :  Mr. 
Biggin  had  a  few  months  before  decided  as  to  the  party 
in  whose  favor  he  would  throw  the  weight  of  his  influence ; 
but  it  happened  to  be  the  weaker  side,  and  when  this  was  dis 
covered  it  was  too  late  to  retreat. 

The  election  came  off,  the  candidates  whose  names  graced  the 
head  of  the  leading  column  of  the  Trumpeter  of  Freedom  were 
defeated,  and  the  following  week  that  tremendous  organ  of 
liberty  and  independence  blew  it  last  blast,  and  thenceforward 
subsided  into  silence  and  oblivion. 

Mr.  Dalton  was  again  thrown  upon  his  resources,  which 
were  a  little  more  available  than  they  had  been  at  the  com 
mencement  of  the  year.  His  connection  with  the  press,  obscure 
as  it  was,  had  however,  introduced  him  to  some  of  the  writers 
for  the  leading  journals  of  the  city,  and  in  a  short  time  he  pro 
cured  an  engagement  on  one  of  these ;  but  he  had  never  been 
trained  as  a  reporter,  his  habits  of  life,  notwithstanding  the 
severe  schooling  he  had  had,  were  still  against  him,  and  he  was 
soon  informed  that  his  services  were  no  longer  needed.  From, 
that  time,  for  the  space  of  two  years,  he  struggled  with  innu 
merable  difficulties,  sometimes  obtaining  temporary  employ 
ment  in  an  office,  or  a  store,  but  most  of  the  time  out  of  em 
ployment,  and  plunged  with  his  family  into  the  deepest  pover 
ty  ;  his  health  at  length  began  to  give  way  beneath  the  joint 
influences  of  mental  anxiety,  disappointed  hope,  and  privation, 
and  he  must  soon  have  succumbed  beneath  the  weight  of  his 
difficulties,  when  a  gleam  of  sunshine  broke  upon  his  cloudy 
prospects,  and  decided  him  upon  changing  his  views. 

One  day  a  letter  was  received  from  London  in  which  he 
was  informed  that  two  hundred  pounds,  the  remnant  of  an  in 
heritance  which  once  promised  to  make  him  the  possessor  of 
thousands,  awaited  him,  and  that  bills  of  exchange  to  that 
amount  were  deposited  in  the  hands  of  a  banker  in  New  York. 

He  should  now  have  returned  to  England,  for  he  lacked  the 


50  THE    WANDERER. 

energy  necessary  to  success  in  a  young  country.  But  his 
pride  forbade  him  to  return,  a  disappointed  man,  and  to  take 
up  a  position  at  home  inferior  to  that  which  he  considered  to 
be  his  birth-right,  and  he  took  it  into  his  head  that  he  would  try 
his  chances  in  the  country  and  become  a  farmer. 

He  purchased  a  few  acres  of  land  in  the  State  of  Ohio,  and 
removed  thither  with  his  wife  and  child. 

It  was  a  wild  wooded  tract  of  land,  which  he  had  purchased 
on  the  recommendation  of  a  speculator,  without  having  even 
visited  the  property  until  the  purchase  money  had  been  paid. 
It  required  the  remainder  of  his  small  stock  of  capital  and  some 
credit  besides,  to  purchase  stock  and  agricultural  implements, 
and  in  ill  health  and  without  possessing  the  slightest  qualifica 
tion  for  his  novel  duties  he  undertook  to  become  a  farmer. 

The  result  may  be  anticipated.  In  the  course  of  a  few  years 
his  little  property  was  mortgaged  to  its  full  value :  in  another 
year  these  mortgages  were  foreclosed.  Every  thing  passed 
away  from  him  except  a  small  strip  of  swamp  land  on  the  bank 
of  a  river,  wrhich  nobody  would  purchase,  and  poor  Charles 
Dalton,  reduced  to  utter  destitution,  took  his  losses  so  much 
to  heart,  that  he  died  in  a  few  months  of  grief,  leaving  his 
widow  and  child,  but  for  the  charity  of  some  kind  hearted 
people  who  had  taken  pity  on  them,  houseless  and  friendless  in 
a  strange  land. 

Broken  in  spirits  and  in  health,  Mrs.  Dalton's  only  desire, 
now  that  her  husband  was  removed  from  her,  was  to  return 
with  her  child,  now  a  fine  boy  of  eight  years  of  age,  to  her 
friends  in  England. 

She  wrote  to  her  late  husband's  sister,  Mrs.  Ashley,  who 
had  married  a  dissenting  minister,  stating  her  destitute  and 
deplorable  condition,  and  throwing  herself  upon  her  sympathy 
although  she  knew  that  she  too  was  struggling  hard  with  pov 
erty. 

She  had  corresponded  regularly  with  her  relatives  in  Eng 
land,  but  Mr.  Dalton's  pride  had  prevented  either  him  or  his 


A    BRIEF    CAREER.  51 

wife  from  making  known  to  their  relatives  their  condition  in 
America.  All  that  had  been  written  had  breathed  hope,  and 
hinted  at  future  success,  though  hope  had  long  ceased  to  exist 
in  the  hearts  of  the  writers. 


62  THE    WANDEREH. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Which  treats  of  Family  Matters,  and  introduces  the  reader  to  some  new 
acquaintances. 

THE  father  of  Charles  Dalton,  Gerald  Dalton,  Esq.,  of  Dai- 
ton  Hall,  Cumberland,  had  died  suddenly  from  the  effects 
of  a  fall  from  his  horse,  while  hunting,  only  a  few  months  prior 
to  the  period  at  which  this  history  commences. 

Up  to  the  day  of  his  death  he  was  considered  to  be  a  man 
of  large  property.  He  was  the  representative  of  an  ancient 
family,  whose  members  had  for  many  generations  held  a  promi 
nent  position  in  the  county,  and  Mr.  Dalton  had  at  the 
age  of  thirty  inherited  from  his  father  a  handsome  estate,  giv 
ing  him  an  unincumbered  rent-roll  of  three  thousand  pounds 
per  annum.  But  the  young  man  had  deviated  from  the  course 
of  his  forefathers  ;  he  had  been  educated  at  Harrow  and  at 
Oxford,  and  had  at  these  places  acquired  habits  of  extrava 
gance  which  required  an  income  twice  as  large  to  support. 
The  consequence  was,  that  he  soon  became  embarrassed,  and 
was  compelled  to  resort  to  ruinous  measures  to  raise  a  larger 
income  than  his  estate  brought  him. 

The  property  was  not  entailed,  and  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
mortgaging  it  piecemeal,  and  obtaining  in  this  manner  all  the 
money  his  extravagancies  required.  Nay,  so  obliging  were 
his  creditors,  that  they  bound  themselves  to  supply  him  with 
the  funds  he  needed  without  stint,  and  without  letting  the  mat 
ter  be  known  to  any  one  until  after  his  death,  when  of  course 
they  would  be  enabled  to  foreclose  the  mortgages  and  dismem 
ber  the  estate. 


FAMILY    MATTERS  53 

It  is  not  likely  that  Gerald  Dalton  when  he  first  fell  into 
the  clutches  of  the  money-lenders  thought  of  the  ruin  that  was 
sure  to  follow. 

He  was  not  an  ill-meaning  man,  and,  at  first  would  have 
been  shocked  at  the  thought  of  the  ruin  that  he  was  bringing 
upon  his  family.  But,  the  fact  is,  he  was  a  careless  man,  who 
never  gave  the  matter  a  serious  thought  at  all  until  it  was  too 
late  to  hope  to  recover  himself,  and  then,  when  years  began  to 
crowd  upon  him,  and  he  was  driven  to  think,  he  consoled  him 
self  with  the  unctious  proverb,  "  sufficient  for  the  day  is  the 
evil  thereof,"  which  proverb,  by  the  way,  he  grossly  perverted, 
as  many  others  are  apt  to  do. 

His  wife  died  a  few  years  after  his  marriage,  and  the  con 
sequence  of  his  criminal  weakness  and  thoughtlessness  was, 
that  his  two  children,  his  son  Charles,  with  whose  unfortunate 
career  the  reader  is  already  acquainted,  and  his  daughter  Ellen, 
grew  up  in  complete  ignorance  of  the  distracted  condition  of 
their  father's  affairs. 

Educated  in  the  expectation  of  enjoying  affluence,  and  foolish 
ly  indulged  in  the  gratification  of  every  extravagant  whim  of 
the  moment,  their  distress  may  be  conceived,  when  in  due 
time  the  will  of  their  deceased  father  was  read  to  them  and 
they  discovered  that,  although  the  whole  of  the  property  was 
left  to  them,  it  was  so  involved  that  the  estate  would  be  brought 
to  the  hammer  for  the  benefit  of  the  creditors,  and  they  were 
in  reality  paupers. 

Only  a  few  weeks  before  Gerald  Dalton's  death,  his  son 
Charles  married  an  amiable  and  accomplished  young  lady  to 
whom  he  had  been  attached  from  early  boyhood ;  but  she  was 
an  orphan,  and  though  of  highly  respectable  parentage,  de 
pendent  solely  upon  a  miserly  uncle.  Gerald  Dalton,  probably 
with  a  foreshadowing  of  the  ruin  that  awaited  his  son's  hopes, 
had  strongly  opposed  the  intimacy  of  his  son  Charles  and  Mary 
Allen  ;  indeed,  he  had  positively  refused  to  give  his  consent  to 
their  union — and  they  had  at  last  recourse  to  a  clandestine 


54  THE    WANDERER. 

marriage.  The  uncle  of  Mary  was  cognizant  of  his  niece's 
marriage,  and  he  had  not  opposed  it.  Nay,  he  rather  urged  it 
upon  the  youthful  couple,  since  it  relieved  him  from  the  ex 
pense  he  incurred  in  the  support  of  his  niece,  and  he  felt  grati 
fied  at  the  idea  of  her  forming  a  union  with  the  son  and  heir  of 
the  reputed  wealthy  Squire  Dalton.  of  Dalton  Hall. 

Ellen  Dalton  was  likewise  aware  of  the  step  her  brother 
had  taken ;  but  she  had  encouraged  him  in  so  doing,  and  had 
kept  his  secret. 

In  this,  she  had  a  fellow  feeling,  for  she  had  been  for  several 
years  betrothed  to  a  young  man  named  Edward  Ashley,  who 
was  pursuing  his  studies  at  a  Dissenting  College  near  London, 
with  the  view  of  entering  the  ministry.  Gerald  Dalton,  in  all 
likelihood,  opposed  this  union  on  similar  grounds  to  those 
which  led  to  his  opposition  to  his  son's  choice,  viz. — the  want  of 
fortune  on  the  part  of  the  young  man.  Still  he  never  had  the 
moral  courage  to  state  his  reasons  to  his  children,  and  when 
his  death  occurred,  Ellen  was  still  unmarried,  although  she  was 
three  years  older  than  her  brother  Charles. 

When  the  ruinous  condition  of  Gerald  Dalton's  affairs 
became  known,  Ellen  wrote  to  her  lover,  explaining  unreserved 
ly  her  altered  position  and  generously  offering  to  relieve  him 
from  his  engagement. 

"  My  poor  father  is  dead,  dear  Edward,"  she  wrote,  "  and 
he  has  left  his  affairs  in  the  utmost  confusion.  My  brother 
Charles  and  I,  are  beggars,  and  though  I  am  still,  and  shall 
remain  as  devotedly  attached  to  you  as  ever ;  though  it  would 
break  my  heart  to  hear  that  you  had  wedded  another,  and 
though  I  shall  ever  remain  unmarried,  for  I  can  never  transfer 
my  love  to  another,  nor  give  my  hand  to  one  whom  I  cannot 
love,  I  cannot  expect  you  to  blight  your  prospects  by  uniting 
yourself  with  one  who  would  be  a  clog  to  your  hopes  of  ad 
vancement.  Dear  Edward,  you  know  how  often  we  have  con 
versed  together  upon  the  subject  of  your  poverty,  and  how  we 
have  fondly  and  hopefully  looked  forward  to  the  day  when 


FAMILY    MATTERS.  55 

my  poor  father,  would,  as  I  always  believed  he  would,  at  last — 
perceiving  as  he  must  have  done — the  firmness  of  my  attach 
ment,  give  his  consent  to  our  union,  and  how  we  have  laid  out 
our  plans  for  the  future,  when  the  weath  which  I  believed 
would  one  day  be  mine,  would  be  yours  also. 

"  They  were  happy  dreams,  dear  Edward,  but  they  have  fled 
forever.  And  yet,  I  cannot,  I  dare  not,  reproach  my  poor 
father's  memory. 

"  Charles  and  Mary  are  going  to  America.  Mary,  you 
know,  came  into  possession  of  a  small  sum  of  money  left  her 
by  her  father,  for  a  marriage  portion.  It  is  very  little ;  but 
Charles  hopes  that  with  proper  economy,  he  can  make  it  suffice 
until  he  can  obtain  literary  employment,  (that  is  his  object)  in 
the  United  States.  I  am  going  with  them  ;  and  though  I 
should  like  to  see  you  once  more  before  I  leave  England,  per 
haps  it  were  better  that  we  should  not  meet  again.  The  meet 
ing  would  be  too  sorrowful,  the  parting  too  painful.  God 
bless  you,  dear  Edward;  though  I  shall  be  separated  from  you 
by  several  leagues  of  ocean,  my  heart  will  still  be  with  you, 
my  prayers  daily  offered  up  for  you,  my  good  wishes,  alas  ! 
they  are  all  I  have  to  bestow,  ever  exercised  in  your  behalf. 
Shall  I  not  have  yours  in  return  ]" 

I  feel,  I  know,  that  we  shall  meet  again  at  some  future  day 
— but  no,  1  will  not  raise  hopes  that  must  meet  with  disap 
pointment,  and  whose  nonfulfilment  would  plunge  me  into 
despair — 

"  I  cannot  trust  myself  to  write  more  ;  my  eyes  are  dimmed, 
and  the  paper  is  blotted  with  my  tears — 

"  Again  God  for  ever  bless  you,  Edward,  may  every  success 
attend  your  endeavors. — That  happiness  may  await  you  here 
and  hereafter  is  the  heartfelt  prayer  of 

Your  ever  affectionate 

ELLEN." 

This  letter  was  duly  received  by  Edward  Ashley,  and  the 
result  was  that  he  immediately  obtained  leave  of  absence  from 


56  THE    WANDERER. 

his  studies  at  Hackney  College,  and  hurried  down  to  Cumber 
land. 

Ellen  and  he  held  an  interview,  and  in  one  month  after 
wards  they  were  married. 

The  young  man  returned  with  his  wife  to  London,  and  short 
ly  afterwards  accepted  a  call  from  an  Independent  Congregation 
in  a  certain  town  in  the  county  of  Kent  which  I  shall  call  Her- 
rington,  and  became  the  pastor  of  Zion  Chapel  in  that  town  at  a 
salary  of  sixty  pounds  a  year. 

During  the  years  that  Charles  Dalton  had  spent  in  America, 
Mrs.  Ashley  had  brought  her  husband  four  children,  the  young 
est  of  whom  were  twins.  Pie  had  also  taken  into  his  house,  out 
of  pure  charity,  the  little  orphan  daughter  of  a  former  brother 
student,  and  still  his  paltry  stipend  had  not  been  increased. 

His  wife  was  now  in  ill  health,  and  he  had  received  a  demand 
for  the  immediate  and  prompt  payment  of  certain  bills,  on  the 
same  day  that  he  received  the  letter  acquainting  him  with  the 
death  of  his  unfortunate  brother-in-law,  and  the  destitution  of  his 
sister-in-law  and  her  child,  who  had  been  named — I  have  omit 
ted  to  mention  this  hitherto — after  his  grandfather,  Gerald 
Dalton. 

It  was  Saturday  evening,  and  he  was  sitting  in  his  study 
busily  engaged,  or  seeming  to  be  engaged,  in  the  preparation 
of  his  sermon  for  the  ensuing  Sabbath  morning,  when  the  post 
man  knocked  at  the  door. 

By  his  side,  on  the  table  at  which  he  was  writing,  lay  a  pile 
of  manuscript,  lined  and  interlined  after  a  fashion  that  showed 
that  whatever  might  have  been  the  worthy  gentleman's  usual 
facility  of  composition,  he  must  have  found  great  difficulty  on 
that  particular  evening  in  concentrating  his  ideas. 

He  started  when  he  heard  the  knock  at  the  door,  and  listened 
attentively.  He  was  in  the  act  of  rising  from  his  seat,  when 
the  study  door  was  opened,  and  a  blowzy  country  girl,  evi 
dently  a  "  maid-of-all-work,"  presented  herself. 

"Who  is  that,  Sarah T'  he  asked,  without  waiting  for  the 


FAMILY    MATTERS.  5f 

girl  to  declare  her  errand.     "Is  it  Doctor  Knight?     How  is 
your  mistress  now  1" 

Without  immediately  replying  to  his  questions,  the  girl 
handed  him  a  letter  "bearing  the  American  postmark,  and  said  : 

"  The  postman  be  a  waiting,  sir.  He  says  the  letter  is  two- 
and-four  pence."'  Then,  as  if  just  recollecting  the  questions  her 
master  had  asked,  she  added  : — 

"  Dr.  Knight  corned  in  when  I  opened  the  door  for  the 
postman,  and  nurse  says  misses  aint  no  worse." 

"Dear  me!  bless  me!  a  letter  from  America  in  Mary's 
handwriting,  with  a  black  seal !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ashley. 
"  What  can  have  happened  ?  Little  Gerald  dead,  perhaps. 
You  say  Doctor  Knight  has  come,  Sarah,  and  your  mistress  is 
no  worse,  eh  ?" 

"  Please  sir,  the  postman  be  waiting  for  the  money.  Two 
and  four  pence,"  repeated  the  girl. 

Mr.  Ashley  took  from  a  drawer  the  amount  demanded,  and 
handed  it  to  the  servant,  breathing  a  sigh  as  he  did  so,  how 
ever,  as  if  regretting  the  expenditure  of  money  for  such  a  pur 
pose. 

He  had  laid  the  letter  on  the  table  without  opening  it. 

"My  poor  sermon,"  he  muttered  with  a  sigh,  "it's  useless 
for  me  to  try  any  longer,  I  cannot  write  to-night,  I  must  preach 
an  old  sermon  to-morrow  morning,  come  what  will  of  it,  al 
though  I  shall  be  sure  to  be  told  of  it  by  Deacon  Milton.  I 
can't  help  it,  my  poor  brains  are  wool-gathering  to-night." 

So  it  seemed,  for  he  appeared  already  to  have  forgotten  that 
he  had  received  the  letter. 

In  another  moment  his  glance  fell  upon  it.  He  smiled  at 
his  abstraction,  and  again  took  it  in  his  hand,  but  the  smile 
changed  to  a  look  of  perplexity  and  dread  as  his  eye  again 
encountered  the  ominous  black  seal. 

With  a  shaking  hand  he  opened  the  letter  and  commenced 
to  read  it,  but  he  had  scarcely  read  the  first  half  dozen  lines 
before  he  stopped  and  gave  utterance  to  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  and  grief. 


58  THE    WANDERER. 

"  God  bless  me!  poor  Mary  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  How  shock 
ing!  how  very  shocking  !"  Then  endeavoring  to  nerve  him 
self  to  the  task,  he  read  the  letter  to  the  end,  and  putting  it 
aside,  sat  for  some  moments  absorbed  in  deep  and  painful 
thought. 

His  reveries  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Doctor 
Knight. 

"Ah!  how  do  you  do  this  evening,  Doctor?"  he  asked. 
"  How  have  you  left  my  wife  1" 

"  Mrs.  Ashley  is  by  no  means  alarmingly  ill ;  she  is  labor 
ing  under  one  of  those  nervous  attacks  to  which  she  has  been 
for  some  time  subject,  but  you  must  prevail  upon  her  to  take 
more  rest,  or  her  disorder  will  become  chronic.  She  must 
live  generously  and  take  plenty  of  exercise.  In  a  day  or  two 
she  will  get  over  the  present  attack,  and  if  she  follows  my 
advice,  I  think  I  can  guarantee  her  from  future  attacks  of  the 
disorder." 

"Yes,  yes;  true,  Doctor,  true,  Mrs.  Ashley  is  too  much 
confined  to  the  house;  too  much  hurried ;  the  twins  are  a  sore 
burden  to  her,  but  she  must  take  more  rest.  I  will  see  to  it 
that  she  does,"  said  Mr.  Ashley,  abstractedly. 

"  I  observe  you  are  engaged  to-night,  Mr.  Ashley,  and  I  will 
not  trespass  further  upon  your  time,"  said  the  doctor,  glanc 
ing  at  the  paper  and  writing  materials  upon  the  table.  I  wish 
you  good  evening,  and  do  not  alarm  yourself  about  Mrs. 
Ashley." 

The  doctor  took  his  leave,  and  Mr.  Ashley  again  took  up 
the  letter  and  read  it.  He  then  glanced  at  the  old-fashioned 
clock  which  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  It  was  past  ten 
o'clock.  He  rose  and  put  aside  his  manuscript,  and  drawing 
his  chair  towards  the  fire,  he  sat  down  to  muse  over  his  pre 
sent  and  future  prospects,  and  upon  the  unexpected  additional 
responsibility  that  now  devolved  upon  him. 

Unconsciously,  yet  as  if  by  force  of  habit,  his  eye  rested  for 
a  moment  on  a  file  of  papers  upon  the  mantel-piece,  consisting 


FAMILY    MATTERS.  59 

for   the   most   part  of  unpaid  accounts.     The  sight  of  these 
changed  for  a  time  the  current  of  his  thoughts. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  he  soliloquized,  "  that  things  can  go  on 
thus  much  longer.  I  have  exhausted  the  patience  of  my  cred 
itors,  and  they  will  give  me  no  longer  time.  The  two  hundred 
pounds  Ellen  received  from  her  late  father's  executors,  I  had 
hoped  to  have  set  aside  for  some  future  object.  It  is  her 
money,  not  mine,  and  has  remained  untouched  in  the  bank  for 
years.  Now,  when  I  find  it  absolutely  necessary  to  withdraw 
it,  there  comes  this  additional  claim  upon  me,  for  poor  Mary 
and  the  boy  must  be  sent  for,  and  it  will  cost  at  least  fifty  or 
sixty  pounds  to  bring  them  home.  Then  there  will  be  another 
constant  drain  upon  me,  and  to  keep  out  of  debt  will  be  impos 
sible.  Sixty  pounds  a  year  cannot  be  made  to  supply  my 
family  even  with  the  commonest  necessaries,  and  my  profes 
sion  obliges  me  to  make  an  appearance  of  respectability  at 
least.  If  I  apply  to  the  vestry  again  for  an  increase  of  salary, 
I  shall  be  refused  ;  there  are  plenty  to  be  found  who  will  take 
my  place  for  that  salary.  If  I  tell  them  that  I  cannot  support 
my  family  without  incurring  debt,  I  shall  be  blamed  severely ; 
the  very  profession  to  which  I  belong  will  be  brought  up  to 
bear  witness  against  my  extravagance.  My  extravagance  !" 
and  the  poor  man  smiled  bitterly  as  he  repeated  the  word. 
"Then  Knight  insists  upon  Ellen's  taking  more  rest,  and  so  she 
ought,  and  shall,  but  in  that  case  who  is  to  see  after  the  house 
hold  affairs?" 

He  took  down  the  bill-file  and  turned  over  the  accounts. 
"  Seventy-five  pounds  eight  shillings  and  four  pence  half 
penny  !"  he  said,  after  having  summed  up  the  total.  "  Very 
little  of  Ellen's  money  will  remain  when  these  bills  are  paid 
and  I  have  sent  Mary  the  money  she  requires.  Then  there  is 
Knight's  account,  but  he  will  not  be  pressing." 

Wearied  alike  in  mind  and  body,  he  fell"  asleep  in  his  chair, 
and  a  whimsical  fancy  flitted  through  his  dreaming  brain,  sug 
gested,  perhaps,  by  the  remarkable  manner  in  which  his  family 


60  THE    WANDERER. 

had  increased  within  the  last  year.  His  wife  had  during  this 
period  given  birth  to  twins  ;  he  had  received  into  his  family 
the  little  daughter  of  a  deceased  friend,  and  now  his  brother's 
widow  and  child  had  claimed  his  protection  ;  somehow  or 
other  in  the  fanciful  vagaries  of  sleep  he  associated  these  latter 
with  the  twins,  and  dreamed  that  twins  of  all  ages  and  both 
sexes  were  gamboling  around  him,  and  climbing  his  knee  and 
clinging  to  the  back  of  his  chair,  while  he  and  his  wife  were 
devising  schemes  for  their  support,  and  for  the  support  of 
fresh  couplets  that  by  some  unaccountable  means  still  kept 
coming,  but  at  last  human  ingenuity  was  at  fault,  and  he 
thought  that  he  and  they  were  left  to  perish  with  cold  and 
hunger.  He  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  fate  that  awaited 
them,  and  awoke  to  the  discovery  that  the  candles  and  fire  had 
both  burned  out,  and  that  the  latter  portion  of  his  dream  had 
been  occasioned  by  a  nightmare  caused  by  the  uneasy  posi 
tion  into  which  he  had  fallen  in  his  chair,  and  by  the  cold  air 
of  the  blustering  March  night  which  had  penetrated  through 
the  chinks  of  the  window  and  chilled  him  to  the  bone. 

He  rose  and  felt  his  way  through  the  darkness  to  the  bed 
room,  where  his  wife  was  sleeping  soundly,  and  he  did  not 
awaken  her. 

Quietly  as  possible  he  undressed  and  got  into  bed,  so  wea 
ried,  that  despite  the  agitation  of  his  mind  and  the  thought 
of  the  many  troubles  the  day  had  brought  him,  he  was  soon 
asleep. 


A   LETTER   FROM  ABROAD.  61 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Treats  of  various  matters  in  connection  with  Mr.  Ashley's  position,  and  re 
lates  how  it!  was  arranged  that  Mrs.  Dalton  should  return  to  England. 

MR.  ASHLEY  awoke  the  next  morning  much  refreshed,  and 
with  his  mind  less  clouded  and  oppressed  with  anxieties  than 
when  he  retired  to  rest  on  the  previous  night. 

His  wife  was  already  awake  and  much  better  in  health  than 
she  had  been  for  several  days.  It  was  the  Sabbath  morning, 
and  he  strove  for  the  time  being  to  forget  his  cares.  He  did 
not  tell  his  wife  that  he  had  received  the  letter  from  Mrs. 
Dalton.  He  feared  that,  in  her  present  weak  condition  the 
too  sudden  and  unexpected  intelligence  of  her  brother's  death 
might  be  productive  of  evil  consequences  and  he  therefore  re 
solved  to  break  the  news  to  her  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
after  the  labors  of  the  day  were  over. 

That  Sabbath  morning  Mr.  Ashley  preached  a  sermon  he  had 
preached  a  year  before.  It  was,  in  his  opinion,  one  of  his 
best,  and  certainly  a  better  one  than  he  could  have  written 
under  the  depressing  influences  of  the  past  week.  But  as  he 
had  anticipated,  Deacon  Milton,  the  chief  pillar  of  Zion  Chapel 
and  the  wealthiest  member  of  the  congregation,  and  several 
other  members,  recollected  to  have  heard  the  same  sermon 
preached  before.  They  took  umbrage  at  this,  and  a  committee 
was  appointed  to  wait  upon  the  minister  during  the  ensuing 
week  and  remonstrate  with  him  upon  the  enormity  of  which  he 
had  been  guilty. 

The  afternoon  service  passed  off  satisfactorily  and  in  the 


62  THE    WANDERER. 

evening,  'Mrs.  Ashley  still  improving  in  health,  her  husband 
thought  it  advisable  to  acquaint  her  with  the  sad  news  he  had 
heard  from  abroad. 

He  thought  it  a  good  opportunity  after  the  children  had 
been  put  to  bed  to  introduce  the  subject  by  some  remarks 
in  relation  to  his  family  and  after  he  had  bestowed  a  paternal 
kiss  upon  the  twins  who  were  carried  to  bed  by  the  servant- 
maid,  he  observed  carelessly  : — 

"  We  have  a  large  family  already  growing  up  around  us, 
Ellen ;  a  couple  more  would  fill  up  the  circle  of  our  small 
table." 

Now,  Mrs.  Ashley  was  a  kind-hearted,  amiable  woman,  as 
the  reader  already  knows;  she  had  perhaps  fewer  weak 
nesses  than  usually  fall  to  the  lot  of  humanity.  She  was  as 
kind  to  the  little  orphan  her  husband  had  adopted  as  to  her 
own  children,  and  had  she  possessed  the  means  would  have 
permitted  no  one  to  suffer  distress  that  it  lay  in  her  power  to 
relieve.  But  she  had  one  sore  point ;  it  was  the  twins.  On 
the  occasion  of  their  birth,  a  year  before,  Mr.  Ashley  had  in 
cautiously  made  some  regretful  allusion,  half  jocularly,  and 
half  earnestly,  to  the  rapid  increase  of  his  responsibilities, 
which  allusion  had  been  carried  to  the  ears  of  his  wife  by  a 
tittle-tattling  nurse,  and  the  lady  had  never  entirely  forgotten 
or  forgiven  it.  It  had  rankled  in  her  bosom  ever  since,  and 
whenever  any  allusion  was  made  to  her  family  increase  she 
resented  it.  On  the  present  occasion,  Mr.  Ashley  having  but 
that  moment  caressed  the  twins,  the  allusion  to  an  increase 
of  two  to  the  family  circle  was  particularly  mal  apropos.  What 
else  could  he  allude  to  but  twins  ? 

"  It  is  really  too  bad  of  you,  Edward,"  she  replied,  "  to  bo 
continually  harping  upon  those  dear  babies.  You  seem  to  re 
gret  the  occurrence  of  an  event  which  most  fathers  would,  and 
all  ought  to  be  proud  of.  I  believe  you  actually  begin  to  regard 
the  poor  children  with  dislike." 

"My  dear  Ellen,"  replied  Mr.   Ashley,   observing  that  his 


A    LETTLR   FROM   ABROAD.  63 

wife  was  greatly  annoyed  at  his  remark,  "  You  misunderstand 
me  entirely.  I  was  not  thinking  at  the  moment  I  spoke  of  our 
own  dear  children.  God  knows  that  I  should  care  not  how 
many  olive  branches  were  gathered  around  my  table,  if  I  had 
the  means  of  supporting  them.  No,  Ellen,  I  repeat,  I  was  not 
then  thinking  of  our  own  children,  but  of  the  half  orphan  child 
of  one  nearly  related  to  us,  who,  poor  thing,  has  a  claim  upon 
us,  which,  poor  as  we  are,  we  cannot  deny." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  Edward  ]"  said  Mrs.  Ashley 
"  surely  no  relative  of  ours  has  died  lately. 

"  Death  has  laid  his  hand  upon  one  near  and  dear  to  us  both, 
Ellen,"  solemnly  replied  Mr.  Ashley.  "  I  have  received  a  letter 
from  America  which  contains  some  sad  news." 

"  Nothing  has  happened  to  my  brother  or  Mary  T'  said  Mrs. 
Ashley  in  a  voice  of  alarm. 

"  Mary  writes  that  she  is  in  low  spirits  but  does  not  say  she 
is  in  bad  health,"  replied  Mr.  Ashley 

"  The  child—" 

"  Is  well,"  interrupted  Mr.  Ashley. 

He  said  no  more,  but  the  saddened  tone  of  his  voice  satis 
fied  his  wife  of  that  which  her  fears  had  not  permitted  her  to 
ask. 

"  I  know  all,  Edward,"  she  said,  "  my  brother  Charles  is 
dead." 

She  turned  pale  and  Mr.  Ashley  thought  she  was  about  to 
faint ;  but  she  recovered  herself  and  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
agitation  begged  her  husband  to  tell  her  all — she  was  able  to 
listen  to  him. 

Without  speaking  he  placed  the  letter  in  her  hands,  and  un 
falteringly  she  read  it  through  to  the  end  ;  then  folding  it  and 
returning  it'  to  her  husband,  she  said  : — 

"  I  understand  your  allusion  now,  Edward.  Mary  and  the 
child  must  come  to  us."  She  was  about  to  add  something 
further,  but  her  fortitude  failed  her,  and  murmuring  "  Charles, 
my  poor,  dear  brother  Charles,"  she  burst  into  tears.  . 


64  THE    WANDERER. 

Mr.  Ashley  permitted  her  to  weep  freely  without  making 
any  effort  to  repress  her  emotions.  He  knew  that  it  was  bet 
ter  that  her  distressed  feelings  should  find  full  vent  in  tears, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  she  dried  her  eyes,  and 
again  addressing  herself  to  her  husband  she  said — 
"  This  is  sad  news,  Edward." 

"  Sad  news,  indeed,  Ellen." 

"And  poor  Mary  is  in  poverty  in  a  strange  land." 

"  In  poverty,  but  let  us  hope  not  in  utter  destitution,"  re 
turned  her  husband.  "  Mary  writes,  as  you  perceive,  in  the 
most  touching  terms  of  the  kindness  and  sympathy  she  has  met 
with,  especially  from  the  American  ladies  who  knew  her  hus 
band,  and  who  have  been  her  neighbors  for  a  long  time.  She 
says  that  they  were  indefatigable  in  their  kindness  to  poor 
Charles  during  his  last  sickness." 

"  God   bless   them,  for   their  kindness  to  poor  Charles," 
said  Mrs.  Ashley,  again  giving  way  to  tears. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Ashley,  "  endeavor  to  com 
pose  yourself,  my  dear.  We  have  both  decided  that  Mary 
and  the  boy  must  come  to  us,  for  I  knew  what  your  decision 
would  be  before  I  told  you  the  sad  news." 

"  You  have  not  written  to  her?"  sobbed  his  wife. 

"  No,  Ellen.  I  only  received  the  letter  yesterday  and  I  do 
not  yet  know  when  the  next  mail  will  be  made  up  for  America, 
besides  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  arrange  matters  together 
before  I  write.  You  are  aware  from  the  letter  that  Mary  has 
no  funds  to  enable  her  to  return." 

"  We  must  send  her  money,"  impulsively  replied  Mr.  Ash 
ley. 

Her  husband  smiled  sadly,  and  she  understood  the  mean 
ing  of  the  smile. 

"  You  would  infer  that  we  have  no  money  ourselves,  Ed 
ward,  but  there  are  the  two  hundred  pounds  that  were  paid 
over  to  me  out  of  the  remnant  of  my  poor  father's  estate.  We 
can  send  her  that.  That  will  be  sufficient." 


A   LETTER   FROM    ABROAD.  65 

"  Less  than  that  amount  will  be  sufficient,  I  hope,"  returned 
Mrs.  Ashley.  "  It  grieves  me  sorely,  Ellen,  to  touch  that  money 
which  I  had  hoped  to  set  apart  for  you  and  the  children  in  case 
anything  should  happen  to  me,  but  you  know,  for  we  spoke  of 
the  matter  the  other  day,  that  necessity  will  compel  us  to  with 
draw  a  portion  of  the  money  for  the  payment  of  debts  una 
voidably  incurred." 

"  I  know,  Edward.  How  much  will  be  required  for  that 
purpose  f 

"  One  hundred  pounds  will  be  more  than  sufficient  for  the 
present,"  replied  Mr.  Ashley,  but  he  sighed  inwardly  as  he 
spoke,  for  he  knew  not  what  would  be  necessary  in  the  future 
which  loomed  so  darkly. 

"And  then  there  will  be  one  hundred  still  to  send  to  Mary." 

"Mary  writes  that  she  merely  needs  money  enough  to  pay 
the  price  of  her  passage  and  that  of  her  child  to  England," 
said  Mr.  Ashley.  "  She  says  that  the  sale  of  her  effects  will 
pay  her  outstanding  debts  and  provide  her  with  sufficient  funds 
to  reach  New-York.  I  think  sixty  pounds  will  be  sufficient  to 
provide  her  a  comfortable  passage  home  in  one  of  the  packet 
ships ;  less  might  do,  but  of  course  she  must  take  passage  in 
a  good  ship." 

"  Of  course,  Edward,"  returned  his  wife. 

"  Then  we  will  consider  that  matter  settled.  To-morrow  I 
will  make  the  necessary  inquiries  and  write  to  Mary,  transmit 
ting  the  money  as  soon  as  possible.  You  had  better  write  too, 
Ellen." 

"  I  will,"  replied  Mrs.  Ashley. 

"And  now,  my  dear,  you  had  better  retire  to  rest  and 
endeavor,  if  you  can,  to  banish  this  sad  subject  from  your 
mind." 

In  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Ashley  left  the  parlor  and  sought  her 
chamber,  leaving  her  husband  seated  by  the  fire  deeply 
absorbed  in  thought. 

Neither  of  them  had  said  a  word  in  relation  to  the  destitute 


66  THE    WANDERER. 

condition  in  which  Charles  Dalton  had  left  his  wife  and  child. 
As  I  have  said,  they  had  been  led  to  believe  that  he  was  doing 
well  in  his  adopted  country,  and  the  news  of  his  poverty  was 
quite  unexpected  to  them.  Both  Mr.  Ashley  and  his  wife 
were  aware  that  America  offered  opportunities  to  the  ener 
getic  and  industrious  that  were  not  easily  to  be  found  in  Eng 
land,  provided  that  their  energy  and  industry  were  rightly 
directed.  They  were  aware,  too,  of  the  peculiar  failings  of 
Charles  Dalton's  character,  and  perhaps  both  suspected  the 
cause  of  his  want  of  success,  but  at  present  they  were  silent 
on  the  subject.  Respect  for  a  beloved  brother  now  no  more, 
kept  their  tongues  sealed  from  any  expression  of  their  thoughts. 

During  the  week  Mr.  Ashley  wrote  to  the  banker  who  had 
the  little  legacy  of  his  wife's  in  his  possession,  and  the  money 
was  transmitted  to  him.  His  pressing  debts  were  paid  forth 
with,  and  inquiry  having  been  made  as  to  the  cost  of  a  passage 
from  America  to  England,  and  sixty  pounds  found  to  be  more 
than  would  be  necessary,  Mr.  Ashley  and  his  wife  both  wrote 
to  Mary  Dalton,  and  bills  of  exchange  on  New- York  for  that 
amount  were  transmitted  for  her  use. 

The  poor  minister  and  his  wife  now  found  themselves  once 
more  free  from  pressing  debt ;  Doctor  Knight  still  visited  Mrs. 
Ashley,  and  there  was  a  bill  of  long  standing  due  to  him,  but 
they  knew  that  he  would  not  press  for  its  settlement.  Indeed, 
he  was  aware  of  the  impoverished  condition  of  Mr.  Ashley's 
affairs,  and  in  an  off-hand  yet  delicate  manner  had  hinted  that 
he  was  in  no  hurry  for  his  money.  Yet  of  the  two  hundred 
pounds,  little  more  than  forty  now  remained,  and  to  the  weight 
of  care  which  hung  like  a  millstone  upon  the  shoulders  of  the 
poor  pastor  was  about  to  be  added  the  support  of  his  sister-in- 
law  and  his  nephew.  Indeed,  he  had  need  for  the  exercise  of 
all  his  faith  and  trust  in  Providence ! 

Fresh  trials  also  beset  him  during  this  momentous  week. 
He  was  taken  sorely  to  task  for  his  remissness,  as  they  termed 
it,  by  the  deacons  of  his  church.  It  was  in  vain  that  he 


A   LETTER   FROM   ABROAD.  67 

pleaded  in  excuse  his  many  cares  and  troubles,  the  illness  of 
his  wife,  and  the  news  that  he  had  received  of  his  brother-in- 
law's  death.  His  pecuniary  troubles  he  did  not  attempt  to 
plead  in  extenuation,  for  he  knew  that  to  imply  that  he  was 
not  sufficiently  repaid  for  his  clerical  labors  would  only  lead  to 
recrimination  on  the  part  of  the  zealous  devotees  of  Zion  Cha 
pel.  He  was  told  that  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  should  detach 
his  mind  from  earthly  cares,  which  were  only  sent  in  order  to 
purify  his  soul  and  render  him  better  fitted  for  the  duties  of 
his  sacred  calling.  The  Pharisees  !  It  would  have  been  well 
had  they  been  burthened  with  the  load  of  care  they  treated  so 
lightly  when  borne  by  another,  and  compelled  to  support  in 
respectability  a  wife  and  family  on  sixty  pounds  a  year ;  but 
then  they  were  not  ministers  of  the  Gospel,  and  therefore 
might,  in  such  a  case,  murmur  as  much  as  they  pleased. 

Mr.  Ashley  was  in  fact  bluntly  informed  that  unless  he 
pleased  the  elders  of  his  congregation  better,  they  would  be 
compelled  to  dispense  with  his  services ;  there  were  others 
who  would  willingly  undertake  his  duties  for  the  salary  that  he 
received. 

Had  the  minister  been  a  single  man,  or  had  he  possessed  any 
other  means  of  support,  he  would  have  cared  little  for  these 
threats,  and  would  have  thrown  up  his  charge  in  disgust,  but 
he  was  crushed  and  humbled,  borne  down  to  the  earth  with 
trouble,  and  he  dared  not  retort.  Let  no  one  blame  him  for 
this  submission  who  has  not  himself  felt  the  crushing  burden 
of  dependence. 

One  only  friend  he  had  save  Doctor  Knight,  and  that  friend 
was  the  vicar  of  the  parish.  He  was  not  a  rich  man,  but  his 
income  was  sufficient  for  his  necessities.  He  was  a  man  of 
education,  as  was  Mr.  Ashley,  and  he  deeply  sympathized 
with  his  brother  preacher,  though  he  belonged  to  a  different 
persuasion.  But  they  differed  little  in  sentiment.  Both 
believed  that  it  mattered  little  as  to  the  peculiar  form  of  wor- 
lip,  if  the  spirit  of  devotion  were  right,  and  Mr.  Ashley, 


68  THE    WANDERER. 

when  he  first  entertained  the  idea  of  entering  the  ministry,  had 
inclined  to  the  doctrines  of  the  Established  Church.  It  was 
the  want  of  an  Oxford  or  Cambridge  degree  which  alone  had 
restrained  him  and  obliged  him  to  turn  his  attention  to  the 
Independent  persuasion. 


THE    WELCOME    HOME.  69 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Gerald  Dalton  falls  in  with  a  fellow-countryman  in  the  stage,  on  his  journey 
to  Kent,  and  what  cornea  of  the  meeting.  —Mrs.  Dalton  is  welcomed 
home  by  her  sister. 

IT  is  unnecessary  to  comment  upon  the  feelings  of  Mrs.  Dal 
ton  when  she  received  the  sympathizing  letters  from  her  brother 
and  sister,  and  when  knowing  them  to  be  poor,  and  burdened 
with  many  cares,  she  found  them  respond  so  generously  to 
her  appeal. 

A  passage  had  been  pre-engaged  for  her  in  England  by  her 
brother-in-law,  and  it  was  necessary  that  she  should  hasten 
immediately  to  New- York,  for  the  vessel  in  which  her  passage 
was  taken  had  but  to  discharge  her  cargo  and  take  in  another 
already  waiting  for  her,  and  then  to  sail  directly  for  Liverpool 
again. 

Yet  when  the  time  came  that  she  was  to  quit,  perhaps  for 
ever,  the  land  which  had  so  long  been  her  home,  which 
notwithstanding  the  trouble  she  had  experienced  since  she  had 
set  foot  upon  its  soil,  she  had  learned  to  love  only  second  to 
the  land  of  her  birth,  and  which,  had  her  husband  lived  and 
prospered,  she  might  have  learned,  in  time,  to  love  and  cherish 
as  fondly  as  her  native  soil,  she  found  that  she  could  not  bid 
it  farewell  without  a  pang  of  regret.  Nay,  more,  she  then  felt 
that  its  soil  was  hallowed  to  her  memory  forever,  for  beneath 
it  lay  the  remains  of  her  deceased  and  beloved,  though  unfor 
tunate  husband — doubly  beloved,  in  consequence  of  his  misfor 
tunes.  The  thought  of  returning  to  her  friends  had  cheered 


70  THE    WANDERER. 

her  sad,  solitary  heart,  during  the  earliest  days  of  her  young 
widowhood,  yet  now,  she  felt  that  if  she  had  the  means  of  living 
in  her  adopted  country,  in  the  land  in  which  was  her  husband's 
grave,  and  in  which  her  child  was  born,  she  would  still  have 
remained  near  the  spot  where  she  had  met  the  last  expiring 
look  of  love  from  the  partner  of  her  joys  and  sorrows,  had 
received  his  dying  embrace,  and  had  seen  his  body  consigned 
to  the  grave.  The  kind  friends,  too,  who  had  sympathized 
with  and  comforted  her  in  her  afflictions,  she  could  not  leave 
them  without  regret  and  a  longing  desire  to  see  them  again. 
But  fortunately  for  her,  perhaps,  there  was  little  time  to  spend 
in  brooding  over  the  past  or  thinking  of  the  future.  The  ship 
was  waiting  her  in  New-York,  and  thither  it  was  necessary  for. 
her  immediately  to  proceed.  A  hasty  good-by  to  all  was  all 
she  could  give,  and  with  mutual  good  wishes,  the  widow  and 
those  whom  in  her  affliction  she  had  found  to  be  true  friends, 
were  parted  forever  in  this  world. 

Six  weeks  after  she  left  her  late  husband's  home  in  Ohio, 
Mrs.  Dalton  and  her  son  arrived  at  Liverpool. 

Mr.  Ashley,  regardless  for  once  of  the  rebukes  of  the  leading 
members  of  his  congregation,  had  hastened  to  Liverpool  to 
meet  his  sister-in-law  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  arrival  of  the  vessel 
announced  in  the  newspapers.  Sorely  as  the  expense  cramped 
him,  he  had  written  to  an  hotel-keeper  in  Liverpool  to  meet 
her  on  board  the  ship  on  his  arrival  and  convey  her  to  his 
house,  and  the  third  day  after  her  arrival,  he  himself  met  her 
there. 

The  meeting  was  a  sorrowful  one  on  both  sides.  Both  felt  it 
to  be  so,  though  both  endeavored  as  much  as  possible  to  dis 
guise  their  feelings  and  assume  an  appearance  of  cheerfulness 
they  could  not  feel. 

Mr.  Ashley  could  not  afford  time  or  money  for  any  delay  at 
the  great  seaport,  and  on  the  following  morning  the  party 
started  for  the  minister's  humble  home. 

In  that  day  railroads  were  unknown,  and  Mr.  Ashley,  the 


THE    WELCOME    HOME.  71 

widow  and  her  little  son,  travelled  inside  the  stage,  the  fourth 
seat  of  which  was  occupied  by  a  stranger.  It  was  scarcely 
daylight  when  the  coach  drove  out  of  the  hotel  yard  and  rat 
tled  over  the  rough  paving  stones  of  dirty,  busy  Liverpool ; 
but  as  they  advanced  into  the  country,  the  spirits  of  the  widow, 
which  had  been  low  enough  at  starting,  began  to  revive  as  she 
gazed  wistfully  on  the  bright  green  herbage  and  the  lovely 
domestic  scenery  of  her  native  land. 

"  Now  for  the  first  time,  I  feel  that  I  am  in  England  again," 
she  said,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  an  animation  to  which  she 
had  long  been  a  stranger.  They  were  the  first  words  that  had 
been  spoken  since  the  stage  had  left  the  noisy  town. 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  have  come  from  the  United  States, 
madam  ?"  said  the  stranger,  looking  up  from  the  folds  of  his 
cloak,  which  had  hitherto  been  drawn  over  his  face. 

"  I  have,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  continued  the  stranger.  "You  are 
an  Englishwoman,  I  perceive.  I  am  an  American  myself,  but  at 
present  I  am  residing  in  Liverpool." 

The  stranger  now  relapsed  into  silence,  but  he  did  not  again 
enfold  his  features  in  the  folds  of  his  ample  travelling  cloak. 
On  the  contrary,  he  appeared  to  gaze  with  delight  upon  the 
ever  changing  scenery.  He  was  a  tall,  spare,  gentlemanly- 
looking  man,  with  a  keen  dark  eye,  and  hair  also  dark,  although 
slightly  grizzled,  apparently  from  the  effects  of  care  and  anx 
iety  rather  than  from  age,  for  his  years  could  not  much  have 
exceeded  thirty. 

Again  Mrs.  Dalton  made  some  remark  upon  the  beauty  of 
the  scenery. 

The  stranger  answered  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  your  island  can  boast  of  lovely  scenery ; 
no  one  will  deny  that ;  but  you  will  excuse  me  for  asking, 
since  you  have  resided  in  the  United  States,  if  you  have  seen 
nothing  to  admire  in  the  scenery  there?" 

" Much,  very  much,"  replied  Mrs.  Dalton.     "The  country 


72  THE    WANDERER. 

is  very  different  from  this,  but  it  possesses  a  beauty  peculiarly 
its  own." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  acknowledge  that,  madam,"  said 
the  gentleman,  "  for  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  too  much  accus 
tomed  to  hear  your  countrymen  speak  in  a  tone  of  supercili 
ousness  of  the  United  States.  Not  that  I  care  much  about  it, 
for  I  am  too  proud  of  the  growing  greatness  of  my  native 
land  to  feel  anything  but  contempt  for  those  who  traduce  it, 
but  it  is  not  pleasant  to  listen  to  such  remarks,  especially 
when  one  knows  them  to  be  false." 

"  Few  would  make  such  remarks  who  have  lived  long  in 
America,"  observed  Mrs.  Ashley. 

"There  I  am  sorry  to  differ  with  you,"  returned  the  gentle 
man  ;  "  few  of  the  educated  gentlemen  of  England  would  make 
them,  but  unfortunately,  the  Englishmen  who  in  these  days 
visit  America  are  of  a  class  that  represent  their  country  but 
very  indifferently.  Nothing  is  good  enough  for  them.  Every 
thing  is  better  and  finer  in  England,  though  if  that  be  the  case, 
what  on  earth  leads  them  to  visit  a  country  they  affect  to 
despise  so  much'?  You  must  have  observed  this  feeling  amongst 
those  of  your  countrymen  whom  you  may  have  met  in  the 
United  States." 

"  I  was  seldom  thrown  in  the  way  of  English  people  during 
the  whole  period  I  resided  in  America,"  answered  Mrs.  Dai- 
ton.  "  The  last  four  or  five  years  1  have  spent  in  Ohio,  and  I 
believe  there  are  few  of  my  countrymen  settled  there,  not  at 
least  in  the  part  of  the  State  in  which  1  resided." 

"In  Ohio!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman;  "that  is  my  native 
State.  You  have  lived  there,  you  say,  four  or  five  years. 
This  little  boy  here,"  looking  towards  Gerald,  who  was  listen 
ing  earnestly  to  the  conversation,  "is  perhaps  a  countryman  of 
mine ;  that  is  to  say,  if  you  resided  long  in  America  before 
you  went  to  Ohio  ?" 

"Yes,  Sir,  little  Gerald  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York." 

"  Let  me  welcome  you  to  England,  my  fine  little  fellow," 


THE    WELCOME    HOME.  73 

said  the  gentleman,  taking  Gerald's  hand,  and  patting  his  cheek. 
"  And  at  the  same  time  introduce  myself  as  your  fellow  coun 
tryman.  My  name  is  Brower,  George  Brower.  What  is 
yours  ?" 

"  Gerald  Dalton,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  Gerald  Dalton — Dalton,  from  Ohio  ?"  exclaimed  the  gen 
tleman.  "  May  I  ask  you,  Ma'am,"  addressing  Mrs.  Dalton 
"  if  your  husband  bought  the  farm  on  the  road  to  Port  William 
about  ten  miles  from  Cincinnati,  now  I  should  think  five  years 
ago  or  thereabouts  V 

"  He  did,  Sir,"  replied  the  widow. 

"  Then  I  was  once  slightly  acquainted  with  him.  I  come 
from  Cincinnati,  myself,  and  my  father  owns  a  farm  about  four 
miles  distant  from  your  husband's.  I  don't  know  how  he  gets 
on ;  well,  I  hope.  But  you  will  excuse  me  for  saying  that  he 
made  a  very  sorry  bargain  when  he  bought  that  land.  It's  the 
worst  on  the  line  of  the  river  for  miles." 

"  My  husband  is  dead,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Dalton,  "  and  the  farm 
belongs  to  me  no  longer." 

"  Dear  me,  Madam  !"  exclaimed  the  gentleman.  "  Pardon 
me  for  my  rudeness.  I  was  foolish  not  to  have  perceived  that 
you  are  in  mourning ;  but  I  would  not  have  intentionally  hurt 
your  feelings." 

The  excuse  was  readily  accepted  by  the  widow,  for,  in  truth, 
there  was  no  cause  for  offence ;  but  the  stranger  had  touched 
a  tender  spot  in  her  breast,  and  she  remained  silent. 

With  ready  tact  he  changed  the  subject,  and  addressed  him 
self  to  Mr.  Ashley,  displaying  so  much  intelligence,  cheerful 
ness,  and  good-humor,  that  very  shortly  Mrs.  Dalton  again  joined 
in  the  conversation,  and  before  another  hour  had  passed  all 
were  talking  again  of  America,  and  Mrs,  Dalton  had  related 
how  the  farm  came  to  be  sold. 

"  At  present,"  observed  Mr.  Brower,  "  the  purchaser  has 
got  a  bad  bargain  ;  but,  believe  me,  it  will  not  prove  so  in  the 
end.  It  is  a  pity  for  the  sake  of  my  little  Gerald  that  your 


74  THE    WANDERER. 

husband  could  not  have  held  it.  As  farming  land  it  will  never 
be  worth  anything ;  but  one  of  these  days  it  will  be  among  the 
most  valuable  property  in  the  State." 

"All  was  sold,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  "  for  less  than  my  husband 
paid  for  it,  with  the  exception  of  a  strip  bordering  close  on  the 
river,  that  no  one  would  buy." 

"  And  that  is  still  yours  T  exclaimed  Mr.  Brower  with  ani 
mation. 

"  It  is,"  replied  the  widow.  "  No  one,  I  fancy  will  be  in 
haste  to  dispossess  me  of  it." 

"  Be  not  too  sure  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Brower,  "  Have  you  the 
title  deeds  in  your  possession  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,  they  are  among  my  late  husband's  papers." 

"  One  question  more.  Had  your  husband  taken  out  his  na 
turalization  papers  1  Was  he  a  citizen  of  the  United  States 
when  he  died  V 

"  He  was.     He  became  a  citizen  two  years  before  his  death." 

"  All  right  then,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brower.  "  Keep  fast  hold 
of  the  deed,  for  the  sake  of  your  boy.  That  piece  of  swamp 
that  you  now  believe  worthless,  as  it  in  fact  is,  will  one  day  be 
worth  twice  the  value  of  the  rest  of  the  property.  Why  Gerald, 
my  little  countryman,  you  will  one  day  become  a  rich  Ameri 
can  citizen.  It  may  be  many  years  before  that  happens  ;  but 
the  day  will  come,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Brower,  and  yours 
is  Gerald  Dalton,  my  fine  little  fellow.  But  I  see  we  are  ap 
proaching  Derby,  I  alight  there.  Here  is  my  card,  Sir,"  ad 
dressing  Mr.  Ashley,  and  handing  him  a  card.  "I  am  the 
agent  for  a  mercantile  house  in  Cincinnati,  and  I  reside  in  Liv 
erpool.  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  there,  should  you  visit 
the  town  again.  I  am  going  to  write  to  Cincinnati  next  mail, 
and  I  will  direct  my  brother  to  keep  a  look  out  after  that  piece 
of  swamp  land.  If  it  were  not  yours,  madam,  I  could  wish 
it  were  mine." 

Mr.  Ashley  exchanged  cards  with  the  American.  The 
stage  stopped  to  change  horses  at  Derby,  and  the  traveller 


THE    WELCOME    HOME.  75 

alighted,  gaily  bidding  his  late  fellow  travellers  good-bye,  and 
shouting  aloud  from  the  door  of  the  hotel,  "  Good-bye,  Gerald, 
my  boy,"  as  the  stage  rattled  swiftly  away. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  late  companion's  notion  respect 
ing  that  bit  of  land  you  have  been  conversing  about,  Mary  ?" 
inquired  Mr.  Ashley. 

"The  American  people  are  ever  sanguine,"  answered  the 
widow.  "  I  do  not  place  much  faith  in  his  prophecy." 

"  He  seems  to  be  a  well  informed  man,  and  very  gentleman 
ly  and  frank  in  his  manners,"  observed  her  brother-in-law. 

"Most  Americans  of  his  class  are,"  replied  the  widow;  "far 
more  intelligent  and  gentlemanly  than  the  same  class  in  Eng 
land.  I  have  said  no  more  than  the  truth ;  there  is  indeed 
much  to  admire  in  the  United  States  and  in  its  people.  Nor 
was  he  far  wrong  in  the  estimation  of  too  many  of  the  English 
who  visit  the  United  States." 

"It  is  a  pity  that  such  foolish  prejudices  should  exist,"  said 
Mr.  Ashley.  "  I  should  much  like  to  visit  America." 

"  And  you  would  be  much  pleased  with  all  you  saw  there," 
returned  the  widow.  "  Poor  Charles  had  much  to  contend 
with  ;  had  he  in  early  life  been  trained  to  labor  and  to  depend 
upon  his  own  exertions,  things  would  have  been  very  different 
with  him,  poor  fellow  !  but  it  was  no  fault  of  his.  Both  he  and 
I  had  much  to  unlearn  and  much  to  learn  when  we  first  set 
foot  on  American  soil.  We  were  both  at  fault,  and  poor 
Charles  bitterly  paid  the  penalty  of  his  mistake." 

The  conversation  ceased,  and  both  Mr.  Ashley  and  the 
widow  sat  silently,  occupied  with  their  own  thoughts,  only  occa 
sionally  interrupted  by  the  childish  prattle  of  little  Gerald. 

Several  times  the  stage  stopped  to  change  horses,  and  at 
last,  as  night  drew  on,  the  passengers  all  removed  into  another 
stage.  It  was  a  long  weary  journey  from  Liverpool  to  the 
town  in  which  Mr.  Ashley  resided,  and  they  travelled  all  night, 
little  Gerald  sleeping  soundly  in  his  mother's  lap,  and  Mr. 
Ashley  and  the  widow  sleeping  and  waking  by  fits  and  starts 


76  THE    WANDERER. 

as  people  do  sleep  and  wake  in  stages.  The  daylight  seemed 
as  if  it  would  never  re-appear;  but  it  came  at  last,  displaying 
in  all  its  fresh  spring  verdure  the  sweet  scenery  of  the  county 
of  Kent,  and  by  ten  o'clock  the  stage  entered  Herrington.  Mr. 
Ashley  was  once  more  at  home,  and  a  fresh  sorrow,  not  un- 
mingled  with  joy,  awaited  the  widow  in  meeting  the  only  sister 
of  her  late  beloved  husband. 

A  few  minutes'  walk  from  the  coach  office,  took  the  travellers 
to  the  minister's  humble  abode,  where  Mrs.  Ashley,  who  was 
expecting  her  husband's  return,  had  everything  prepared  in 
her  power  to  give  them  a  hearty  welcome. 

Little  Gerald  was  introduced  to  his  cousins  and  the  little 
orphan  guest  of  the  household,  and  the  first  joy  and  grief  of  the 
meeting  over,  and  every  one  refreshed  with  a  homely  but 
plentiful  breakfast,  the  ladies  retired  to  talk  and  perchance  to 
weep  over  times  gone  by,  and  Gerald  was  taken  by  his  cousins 
to  inspect  their  toys  and  treasures,  while  Mr.  Ashley,  tired  as 
he  was  with  his  long  journey,  was  obliged  to  forego  his  much 
needed  rest,  for  the  present,  and  to  set  hard  to  work  to  redeem 
his  lost  time,  and  endeavor  to  satisfy  the  rigid  exactions  of 
the  leading  members  and  elders  of  his  flock. 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Showing  who  prove  to  bo  friends  in  time  of  trouble,  and  attesting  to  the 
truth  of  the  old  adage,  "A  friend  in  need  ia  a  friend  indeed." 

MR.  ASHLEY  certainly  had  sufficient  on  his  hands,  for  in  addi 
tion  to  his  clerical  duties,  the  task  devolved  upon  him  of  edu 
cating  his  two  sons,  Frederick  and  Henry,  (the  twins  were 
girls,  and,  as  I  have  observed,  still  infants,)  Alice  Thornton, 
the  orphan  child  alluded  to  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  and  little 
Gerald  Dalton,  his  nephew,  for  he  was  quite  unable  to  pay  for 
their  tuition  elsewhere.  Frederick,  the  elder  son  of  Mr.  Ash, 
ley,  was  about  the  age  of  Gerald,  as  also  was  Alice  Thornton  : 
Henry  was  two  years  younger,  but  still  old  enough  to  require 
the  attention  of  a  preceptor,  and  all  the  overburdened  minis 
ter's  spare  time  was  occupied  in  teaching  these  children  ;  but 
otherwise,  the  arrival  of  his  nephew  and  sister-in-law  did  not 
impose  upon  him  the  additional  burden  he  had  anticipated, 
since  Mrs.  Dalton,  by  her  skill  and  industry  as  a  needlewoman, 
was  soon  able  to  support  herself  and  her  child,  though  she  still 
remained  beneath  the  roof  of  her  brother-in-law. 

Two  years  passed  away,  during  which  period  the  difficulties 
already  hinted  at  as  occurring  between  Mr.  Ashley  and  the 
leading  members  of  his  congregation  greatly  increased.  The 
minister  was  a  patient,  much-enduring,  long-suffering  man  ; 
in  all  reasonable  things  he  endeavored  to  conform  as  much  as 
possible  to  the  wishes  of  others ;  but  patience  has  its  limits^ 
and  his  deacons  at  length  became  so  capricious,  and  at  the 
same  time  so  exacting,  that  the  long  smothered  discontent  on 


78  THE    WANDERER. 

both  sides  broke  out  into  open  warfare,  and  one  Sabbath  morn 
ing  Mr.  Ashley  announced  his  resignation  from  the  pulpit, 
greatly  to  the  astonishment  of  Deacon  Milton,  who  had  no 
idea  that  it  was  possible  for  the  harassed  pastor  to  take  so 
decided,  and,  as  he  thought,  so  desperate  a  step,  and  greatly  to 
the  regret  of  many  of  the  poorer  members  of  the  chapel,  who 
had  taken  no  part  in  the  various  controversies  between  the 
minister  and  the  deacons,  and  who  only  knew  the  former  as  a 
good  and  zealous  pastor,  and  a  kind  hearted  man,  ever  ready 
to  offer  his  sympathy  in  the  hour  of  trouble,  though  he  had 
nothing  else  to  give. 

The  deacons,  in  obedience  to  the  general  desire  of  the  con 
gregation,  endeavored  to  induce  the  minister  to  change  his 
mind ;  they  even,  after  finding  all  other  attempts  fail,  offered 
to  increase  his  salary  to  seventy  pounds  a  year,  in  their  opinion 
a  munificent  mark  of  generosity,  but  the  offer. had  come  too 
late,  and  Mr.  Ashley  courteously  but  positively  declined  to 
continue  in  the  exercise  of  the  duties  of  his  sacred  office. 

He  had  not  arrived  at  this  determination  without  due  con 
sideration.  He  had  advised  with  Dr.  Knight  and  Mr.  Pearce, 
the  vicar  of  the  parish,  the  only  friends  with  whom  he  could 
advise,  and  he  had  resolved  upon  opening  a  school  for  boarders 
and  day  scholars,  in  the  belief  that  he  should  find  the  profes 
sion  of  a  schoolmaster  at  least  as  remunerative  as  that  from 
which  he  was  about  to  retire.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  another 
boarding  and  day  school  in  the  town,  a  long  established, 
highly  respectable  school,  with  three  or  four  tutors,  besides 
the  principal,  to  which  most  of  the  well-to-do  residents — and 
the  town  was  but  small — sent  their  children.  Still  Mr.  Ash 
ley  believed  there  was  room  for  another  academy,  and  if  there 
were  not  day  scholars  enough  to  make  it  pay,  why  should  he 
not  succeed  in  obtaining  boarders  from  a  distance,  as  well  as 
Mr.  Clarke,  the  other  schoolmaster  1 

So  in  a  short  time  a  house  was  rented  with  the  necessary 
accommodations,  in  front  of  which  a  sign-board  was  put  up 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  79 

with  the  words  "PROSPECT  HOUSE  CLASSICAL  AND  COMMER 
CIAL  ACADEMY"  painted  upon  it  in  big  letters,  and  circulars 
were  distributed  freely,  which  informed  the  townspeople  and 
strangers  that  at  Prospect  House  Academy,  young  gentlemen 
could  be  instructed  in  the  ordinary  branches  of  English  educa 
tion  at  a  moderate  cost,  and  for  certain  extra  charges  enume 
rated,  in  Mathematics,  Algebra,  Astronomy,  and  the  Use  of 
the  Globes,  Drawing,  Latin,  Greek,  and  the  Modern  Lan 
guages.  A  few  young  gentlemen,  also,  could  be  received  as 
boarders  for  the  sum  of  twenty-five  pounds  per  annum,  paid 
quarterly  in  advance,  every  attention  being  paid  to  their  com- 
fort  by  Mrs.  Ashley,  &c.  &c. 

But  alas  !  fortune  seemed  to  frown  upon  Mr.  Ashley  in  all 
his  undertakings  ;  very  few  of  the  children  of  the  townspeople 
came  to  his  school,  and  these  not  the  children  of  the  more  re 
spectable  class  ;  and  as  to  parents  at  a  distance,  they  remained 
perfectly  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  board  and  tuition  in  the 
English  language  and  all  the  comforts  of  a  home  were  offered 
their  children  by  the  proprietor  of  Prospect  House  Classical 
and  Commercial  Academy. 

The  inevitable  result  was,  that  after  two  years  of  desperate 
struggle,  Mr.  Ashley  was  arrested  for  debt,  while  in  London 
during  the  vacation,  endeavoring  to  borrow  money,  and  con 
signed  to  the  Fleet  Prison. 

This  was  a  dreadful  blow  to  his  unhappy  wife  and  family, 
though  the  children  were  still  too  young  to  feel  the  whole 
weight  of  its  severity.  Things  took  their  usual  course.  An 
inventory  was  taken  of  the  furniture  and  effects  of  the  bank 
rupt,  and  Mrs.  Ashley  removed  with  the  children  into  humbler 
lodgings,  to  which,  however,  her  sister  and  niece  did  not  accom 
pany  her,  Mrs.  Dalton  having  taken  separate  lodgings  for  her 
self  and  Gerald,  who  was  now  a  fine  boy  of  twelve  years  old, 
and  also  relieving  Mrs.  Ashley  of  the  charge  of  Alice  Thornton. 

There  was  great  commotion  in  the  little  town  when  the  bank 
ruptcy  of  Mr.  Ashley  became  generally  known.  It  was  astonish- 


80  THE    WANDERER. 

ing  to  learn  how  often  the  event  had  been  mentally  predicted,  al 
though  until  it  occurred,  no  one  had  ever  breathed  the  predic 
tion  to  his  neighbor ;  and  equally  astonishing  was  it  to  learn 
to  how  many  different  causes  the  misfortune  was  attributed. 

"  I  knew  it  would  come  to  this  when  Mr.  Ashley  resigned 
his  charge  over  Zion  Chapel,"  observed  Mr.  Milton  to  a  neigh 
bor  whom  he  met  while  taking  his  morning  walk  on  the  pier. 
"When  people  grow  proud  and  stiff-necked,  and  greedy  of 
riches,  they  are  sure  to  meet  with  a  fall.  It'll  be  a  desperate 
blow  to  the  family.  He'll  never  recover  it." 

"  Don't  bear  too  hard  on  the  poor  man,  now  he's  fell  into 
misfortune,"  was  the  reply  of  the  person  addressed,  an  honest 
farmer,  who  was  personally  unacquainted  with  the  minister, 
but  who  sympathized  with  him  and  his  family  in  their  trouble. 
"And  the  poor  wife  and  children,"  he  continued,  "  what'll 
they  do  ?" 

"  Do  as  best  they  can,"  returned  the  deacon,  "  when  folks 
go  beyond  their  means,  they  deserve  to  suffer.  There  was 
aller's  too  much  pride  about  Ashley,  and  now  he's  reaping  its 
fruits." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  in  prison,"  said  the  farmer.  "  But,  you  say, 
they  must  do  as  best  they  can.  What  means  of  support  have 
they  ?  You  know  they  musn't  starve" — 

"  Oh,  they  won't  starve;  if  I  thought  that  likely,  why,  I'd 
try  and  get  up  a  small  subscription  for  them  myself,  though 
they  have  no  claim  on  me  or  any  of  us,  since  Ashley  left  Zion 
Chapel.  Mr.  Pearce,  and  Dr.  Knight  I  have  been  told  sent 
Mrs.  Ashley  some  money,  as  a  loan.  I  have  no  doubt  that  such 
is  the  case." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  at  any  rate,"  returned  the 
farmer.  "  And  he,  the  minister  as  was,  he'll  get  his  sartificate 
I  s'pose,"— 

"  Oh  aye — in  a  month  or  so.  Meanwhile  a  little  confine 
ment  won't  do  him  any  harm.  It'll  humble  him  and  his 
family,  and  teach  'em  to  know  their  places  better  in  future," 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  81 

replied  Deacon  Milton,  as  he  turned  away  in  the  direction  of 
his  house. 

Mr.  Clarke  had  predicted,  so  he  said,  the  very  day  that  he 
heard  Mr.  Ashley  was  about  opening  a  rival  Academy,  that  his 
presumption  would  meet  with  a  check.  He  to  think  of  suc 
ceeding  in  establishing  a  school !  It  was  only  a  source  of  won 
der  to  Mr.  Clarke  that  he  had  not  failed  sooner.  "  He  ought 
to,"  added  that  worthy  and  conscientious  man  "  for  it's  down 
right  robbery  for  a  man  to  try  to  keep  afloat  when  he  feels 
himself  sinking  all  the  time." 

Various  other  reasons  were  given  to  account  for  the  mis 
fortunes  of  the  poor  schoolmaster ;  but  the  general  belief 
amongst  the  gossips  was  that  he  was  one  of  those  unhappy 
men  whom  Fortune  constantly  plays  football  with,  and  conse 
quently  it  was  useless  to  sympathize  with  him,  and  would  be 
foolish  to  endeavor  to  assist  him.  This  last  opinion,  being  a 
very  satisfactory  one,  inasmuch  as  it  saved  a  great  deal  of  pain, 
and  trouble,  was  pretty  generally  accepted,  and  amidst  these 
conflicting  opinions  Mrs.  Ashley  and  the  children  might  have 
starved  or  gone  to  the  parish  poor-house,  but  for  the  kindness 
of  the  vicar  and  the  doctor,  both  of  whom  visited  the  family, 
and  afforded  them  such  temporary  assistance  as  they  stood  in 
need  of. 

They  had,  however,  still  another  friend,  who  was  willing  to 
serve  them  in  his  humble  way,  and  this  was  Jemmy  Milton, 
the  brother  of  the  deacon.  This  man  had  been  a  sailor,  but 
had  retired  from  the  sea  some  years  before  on  the  occasion  of 
his  receiving  a  legacy  left  by  an  older  brother,  whose  life  had 
also  been  spent  at  sea,  and  who  had  accumulated  a  handsome 
competency.  There  were,  however,  certain  restrictions  im 
posed  upon  Jemmy  Milton  by  his  brother's  will.  The  greater 
portions  of  this  brother's  wealth  had  been  bequeathed  to  deacon 
Thomas  Milton,  who  was  possessed  besides  of  considerable 
property.  Jernmy  only  came  into  the  possession  of  a  small 
annuity  of  fifty  pounds,  which  was  left  in  the  possession  of 
4* 


82  THE    WANDERER. 

the  deacon,  to  be  by  him  applied  in  the  manner  he  thought 
most  advisable  for  the  younger  brother's  benefit.  For  some 
time  Jemmy  had  received  it  in  quarterly  payments,  and  as  he 
still  owned  a  fishing  boat,  and  earned  some  money  as  a  fisher 
man,  he  managed  to  maintain  himself  as  decently  as  he  cared 
to  do  ;  but  within  a  year  or  two,  Jemmy  had  prevailed  upon 
his  brother  to  change  the  method  he  had  originally  adopted. 

The  fact  is,  unjust  as  it  may  seem,  there  was  reason  in  the 
unequal  distribution  of  his  property  by  the  oldest  brother, 
Kichard  Milton.  He  knew  that  his  brother  Thomas,  niggardly 
as  he  was  by  nature,  would  not  allow  Jemmy  to  suffer  from 
want ;  and  he  knew  also,  that  if  Jemmy  had  a  thousand  pounds 
a  year  to  spend,  he  would  spend  it  all  recklessly,  and  feel  the 
pressure  of  want  before  the  year  was  ended — Jemmy  was 
content,  nay  proud,  to  earn  his  living  as  a  fisherman,  although 
he  had  ceased  to  go  long  voyages  to  sea  as  a  sailor.  The  fifty 
pounds  a  year  was  pocket-money  for  the  purchase  of  luxuries. 
Had  it  been  five  times  fifty,  Jemmy  would  not  have  worked 
as  a  fisherman  ;  would  not  have  been  half  so  happy  and  con 
tented  as  he  was,  and  would  have  spent  foolishly  the  larger 
sum,  while  he  husbanded  the  smaller  one,  with,  for  him,  some 
degree  of  caution. 

Having  formed  a  resolve,  that  as  long  as  he  was  able  his 
labor  should  supply  him  with  the  actual  necessaries  of  life,  he 
was  just  as  fully  resolved  not  to  earn  any  more  than  sufficed 
to  procure  these  necessaries,  but  he  found,  after  a  fair  trial, 
that  the  quarters  came  round  slowly,  and  that  when  they  did 
come,  and  he  received  his  usual  quarterly  pittance  of  twelve 
pounds  ten  shillings,  the  next  payment  was  at  a  date  so 
far  distant  that  he  was  pretty  sure  to  be  out  of  pocket  money 
long  before  it  arrived.  It  would  have  been  just  the  same  had 
the  quarterly  allowance  been  doubled  or  trebled.  So  Jemmy 
hit  upon  a  novel  scheme.  One  day,  when  he  was  in  the  act  of 
receiving  his  little  pittance  from  the  hands  of  his  brother,  the 
following  conversation  took  place  between  them. 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  83 

"  Now  Jemmy,"  said  the  deacon,  "  try  and  take  care  of  that 
money.  A  little  spent  to-day  and  a  little  to-morrow,  and  so 
forth,  and  it  will  last  well  enough  till  next  quarter.  1  will  take 
care  of  it  for  you  if  you  like,  and  you  can  get  it  from  me  just 
as  you  fancy."  Jemmy  looked  at  the  money  as  it  lay  on  the 
table  before  him.  He  gave  an  extra  twist  to  the  chew  of  pig 
tail  tobacco  he  held  in  his  mouth,  scratched  his  head  and 
seemed  half  inclined  to  close  with  his  brother's  proposal ;  but 
the  prospect  of  the  forthcoming  jollification  was  too  much  for 
his  prudence,  and  he  swept  the  money  into  his  hand,  and  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket. 

"I'll  tell  ye  what,  Tummas,"  he  said,  "I  must  take  the 
money  as  it  is  this  time,  I  can't  'conomize  this  bout,  but  for  the 
future  I'd  like  to  sail  on  another  tack.  D'ye  see  twelve  pound 
ten's  a  heap  of  money  to  spend — It's  a  short  homeward  bound 
v'yage — While  I've  got  it  to  spend,  I'll  spend  it  like  a  man  ; 
but,  if  so  be,  as  I  hadn't  got  so  much  to  spend,  why  I  couldn't 
spend  it,  in  coorse,  and  the  odds  is,  I  should  be  just  as  well 
satisfied." 

"Just  so,  Jemmy,"  replied  the  deacon,  "just  so,  now  suppose 
from  this  time  I  give  you  the  money  monthly,  or  weekly,  if 
you  like,  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"  That  it's  very  sensible;  but  it  won't  do  no  ways" — an 
swered  Jemmy.  "  It  comes  to  this,  I  feels  the  want  of  a  jolli 
fication  at  sartain  times,  and  I  wants  money  to  carry  it  out, 
and  enough  money  to  carry  it  out  properly  too,  but  not  so 
much  as  this  here.  Now  I  wants  you  to  pay  me  a  shilling 
a  day,  soger's  pay,  Tummas,  till  the  quarter  comes  round,  and 
then  I'll  take  the  balance.  I  shall  allus  have  money  in  my 
purse  to  buy  my  porter  and  bacca  then,  and  something  to  go 
on  a  spree  with  at  the  end  of  the  quarter,  as  usual." 

The  deacon,  after  vainly  endeavoring  to  induce  his  brother 
to  make  some  wiser  arrangement,  consented  at  length,  to  Jem 
my's  proposition,  and  from  that  time  forward  Jemmy  re 
ceived  and  spent  his  shilling  a  day,  and  had  his  quarterly  pay 
ment  reduced  to  eight  pounds. 


84  THE    WANDERER. 

Deacon  Milton  often  attempted  to  give  his  brother  moral 
advice  ;  but  it  was  entirely  thrown  away  upon  him,  for  Jemmy 
with  all  his  simplicity,  was  shrewd  enough  to  read  his  brother's 
character  perfectly,  and  to  know  that  on  the  score  of  morality, 
it  would  scarcely  compare  favorably  with  his  own — for  he  was 
no  debauchee — nor  was  given  to  any  vice.  His  money  was 
not  spent  in  drink  or  dissipation,  but  rather  flung  away  foolishly, 
given  to  every  one  that  asked  for  it,  so  long  as  he  had  a  penny 
remaining  to  give. 

With  the  boys  of  the  town  Jemmy  Milton  was  an  universal 
favorite.  He  was  always  ready  to  join  them  in  their  amuse 
ments  ;  to  take  them  out  to  sea  in  his  boat ;  to  build  and  rig 
toy  ships  for  them,  and  to  spin  yarns  of  such  absorbing  in 
terest  to  his  youthful  auditors,  that  they  would  listen  greedily 
to  them  for  hours  together. 

Gerald  Dalton,  who  was  a  boy  of  a  courageous  and  generous 
disposition,  was  especially  a  favorite  of  the  old  fisherman's. 
He  had  often  accompanied  him  home  to  assist  in  the  construc 
tion  of  some  new  toy,  or  to  teach  the  boy  how  to  rig  a  ship 
properly,  and  he  was  among  the  few  who  really  sympathized 
with  the  unfortunate  uncle  of  his  favorite. 

A  day  or  two  after  Mrs.  Dalton  had  removed  to  her  new 
lodgings,  Jemmy  met  Gerald  and  Alice,  walking  on  the  beach. 

Evincing  a  delicacy  of  feeling  that  few  would  have  suspected 
him  of  possessing,  the  rough  old  fisherman  hesitated  to  approach 
them  for  some  moments,  for  fear  they  should  think  he  wished 
to  pry  into  the  secrets  of  the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  them  ; 
but,  at  length,  upbraiding  his  own  folly,  he  advanced  towards 
them,  and  observed  that  he  had  not  seen  Gerald  for  several 
days.  "  We  have  moved,  Jemmy,"  said  Gerald.  "  Alice  and 
I  don't  live  with  Aunt  Ashley,  now." 

"  No  !  where  do  you  live,  then  ?" 

Gerald  gave  him  the  information  he  asked  for,  and  he  de 
sired  the  boy  to  tell  his  mother  that  Jernmy  Milton  was  coming 
to  call  upon  her  that  evening. 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  85 

"  Oh,  do,  Jemmy,  do,"  cried  Gerald  and  Alice,  in  a  breath, 
"  Won't  we  be  glad,  and"  added  Gerald,  "  You'll  tell  mother 
the  funny  tale  about  the  Alligators,  won't  you.  She's  so  dull 
sometimes.  It'll  make  her  laugh  won't  it,  Alice  1" 

"  Your  mother's  dull,  is  she  ?"  said  the  old  fisherman, "  well, 
well,  stormy  weather  comes  upon  us  all  times.  It  can't  be 
helped,  and  '  what  can't  be  coored  must  be  endoor'd,'  as  the 
copy  book  says.  But,  tell  her  to  cheer  up  bravely,  and  all  '11 
come  out  right  in  the  end." 

Gerald  promised  to  deliver  the  message  to  his  mother,  and 
walked  homeward  with  the  little  girl. 

"  Now  what  an  old  fool  I  be,  to  send  sich  a  message  as  that, 
arter  all,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  stood  watching  the  children. 
"  She'll  think,  the  Widow  Dalton  will — no,  no,  she  won't  be 
quite  so  silly  as  that,  nuther,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  slap 
ping  his  leg  with  the  palm  of  his  hard  hand,  and  chuckling  heait- 
ily  at  some  ridiculous  fancy.  "  She  won't  be  quite  so  silly  as 
to  think  I  means  anything  improper,  sich  as  makin  up  luv — an 
old  weather  beaten  chap  like  me,  to  sich  a  young  widder  as  she 
be.  She'll  have  more  gumption  than  that  comes  to ;  but  how 
the  dickens  I'm  to  get  over  it,  I  don't  know.  Mebby,  I'd  bet 
ter  have  gone  to  Mrs.  Ashley  at  oncet ;  but  its  ork'ard  bisness 
— very  ork'ard  business,  any  how." 

Mrs.  Dalton  certainly  was  surprised  at  the  intimation  that 
she  was  to  expect  a  visit  from  Jemmy  Milton  that  evening. 
She  could  not  conceive  what  it  was  the  old  fisherman  whom 
she  had  never  spoken  to  and  whom  she  only  knew  as  the  bro 
ther  of  Deacon  Milton,  could  want  with  her.  However,  not 
being  able  to  conceive  what  he  could  want,  she  thought  no  more 
about  it  until  the  time  appointed  by  Jemmy  arrived. 

He  was  true  to  the  minute,  and  after  having  sent  up  his  name 
by  the  woman  of  the  house  who  opened  the  door  to  him,  he 
was  at  the  request  of  Mrs  Dalton,  shown  up  stairs. 

"  I  hope  you're  well  well,  marm,"  he  said,  as  he  entered  the 
room,  first  giving  his  trowsers  a  hitch,  and  then  bowing  in 


86  THE    WANDERER. 

sailor  fashion,  and  jerking  alarmingly  at  the  forelock  of  his 
hair. 

"  Your  name  is  Milton,  Sir,  Mr.  Jarnes  Milton,"  said  the 
widow. 

"  Jemmy  Milton,  or  plain  Jemmy,  at  your  sarvice,  marm," 
replied  the  old  fisherman,  with  another  awkward  bow,  and  an 
other  pull  at  the  unfortunate  forelock. 

"  Pray,  be  seated,  Sir,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  marm,"  said  the  old  man.  "Be 
cause,  d'ye  see,  I  somehow  thought  as  I  might  be  intrudin'." 

"  By  no  means.     My  little  boy " 

"  And  a  right  smart  boy  he  is,  marm,"  interrupted  Jemmy. 

"  My  little  boy,"  continued  the  widow,  "  has  told  me  that 
you  wished  to  see  me  on  business  this  evening.  May  I  ask 
what  it  is  about  ?" 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  returned  the  old  man.  "  That's 
comin'  right  to  the  pint  at  oncet.  That  saves  a  great  deal  of 
trouble.  But — "  and  he  looked  at  the  children,  and  whispered 
in  a  voice,  however,  sufficiently  loud  for  them  to  hear,  "  I 
shouldn't  like,  marm,  to  speak  right  afore  the  children.  It's 
a  delicate  subject  as  I've  come  about." 

Much  surprised  at  the  old  man's  remarks,  Mrs.  Dalton  re 
quested  the  children  to  retire  to  the  bedroom,  the  only  other 
apartment  she  possessed,  and  after  Jemmy  had  thrice  vainly 
attempted  to  clear  his  throat,  for  he  spoke  in  a  hoarser  voice 
than  usual,  he  proceeded  to  explain  the  object  of  his  unexpected 
call. 

"  You  see,  marm,"  he  said,  "  I'm  only  a  rough  seafarin'  man 
laid  up  in  ordinary,  as  I  may  say ;  but  I  know'd  Mr.  Ashley, 
marm,  and  I  respects  him.  Darned  if  I  don1 1 V"1  he  exclaimed 
with  emphasis,  dashing  his  hat  upon  the  floor  to  give  greater 
force  to  the  expression.  "  And  I  think  he  ain't  been  kindly 
dealt  with  by  my  brother,  Deacon  Tummas.  "  He's  fell  into 
misfortin,  marm,  and  I  respects  a  man  as  falls  into  misfortin' 
and  bears  it  like  a  man — as  I  knows  he  does.  Now,  I'm 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  8? 

comin  to  the  pint,  and  you'll  excuse  me  when  I  say,  as  it  was 
quarter  day  yesterday,  and  I've  got  a  little  matter  o'  money, 
which  I  ain't  got  any  use  for  whatsomever,  and  which  I  should 
like  some  keerful  body  to  keep  for  me,  to  use,  you  know,  and 
pay  me  some  day,  when  I  wants  it,  which  won't  be  p'raps  for 
a  year  or  more.  D'ye  see,  marm.  I'm  beginning  to  think 
as  I  ought  to  lay  by  something,  altho'  I'm  as  hearty  as  ever  I 
was  for  the  matter  o1  that." 

Jemmy  hauled  out  the  eight  pounds  he  had  that  morning 
received  from  the  Deacon,  and  laying  the  gold  on  the  table, 
seemed  to  be  awaiting  Mrs.  Dalton's  reply.  But  the  widow- 
did  not  speak  ;  she  new  not  what  to  make  of  the  old  fisherman's 
remarks.  She  knew  him  to  be  an  eccentric  character,  and  had 
heard  that  he  was  profuse  in  the  expenditure  of  the  little  money 
that  fell  into  his  possession,  and  she  had  an  inkling  of  his  object, 
still  she  scarcely  knew  what  to  reply. 

Observing  her  silence  the  old  man  resumed  :  — 

o 

"  I  see,  marm,  as  you  don't  rightly  understand  me,  and  no 
wonder.  A  man  ain't  to  be  understood  when  he  don't  speak 
out  plain,  to  the  purpose,  as  a  man  ought  to  do.  To  come 
right  to  the  pint  then,  I  wish  you  to  give  this  here  small  matter 
o'  money  as  a  loan  to  Mrs.  Ashley.  Don't  tell  her  who  lent 
it  her  :  say,  please,  that  a  friend  sent  it  who  respects  her  hus 
band,  and  I  wish  it  wur  more — there" 

Jemmy  emphasized  this  last  word,  as  if  it  had  cased  his 
mind  of  a  troublesome  load,  and  Mrs.  Dalton,  as  she  looked 
at  him,  could  not  help  admiring  the  generosity  of  character 
that  beamed  in  his  eye.  The  weather-beaten  old  man  looked 
positively  handsome. 

"  Mrs.  Ashley,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "  has  met  with  many 
kind  friends  in  her  trouble.  Mr.  Pearce  and  Dr.  Kinght  have 
been  very  kind  to  her.  I  feel  your  kindness  much ;  but  excuse 
me,  Mr.  Milton,  you  are  not  rich.  You  will  have  need  of  this 
money." 


88  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Not  at  all,  marm,  not  at  all,"  replied  the  old  fisherman. 
"  I  can  allus  earn  my  living  while  God  gives  me  strength,  and 
independent  of  that,  I  has  my  shilling  a  day,  for  baccy  and 
drink,  and  this  here  sum  of  eight  pounds  every  quarter.  More 
by  token,  my  brother  Tummas,  close  as  he  is,  wouldn't  let  me 
want,  if  my  old  hulk  should  give  way  and  lay  me  up  in  ordi 
nary.  You  see  I  didn't  like  to  make  the  offer,  direct,  myself 
to  Mrs.  Ashley,  seeing  as  I  didn't  know  her,  so  I  thought  it  'd 
be  more  delicate  like  to  make  it  through  you." 

Observing  that  Mrs.  Dalton  still  hesitated,  he  added : — 
"  Supposing  you  don't  take  the  money,  it  'ill  do  me  no  good, 
nor  nobody  no  good.  I  shall  go  down  to  the  boathouse,  under 
the  cliff,  and  treat  all  the  boatmen  and  may  be  they'll  lose  a 
day's  work  in  consekence." 

"  I  will  accept  your  kind  offer  in  behalf  of  my  sister,  Mr. 
Milton,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  "  but  you  must  permit  me  to  tell 
her  to  whom  she  is  indebted." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said  Jemmy.  "  Say  a  friend  of  her 
husband's,  and  a  friend  of  the  minister's,  that's  all.  And  now, 
marm,  I  wish  you  good  evening."  And  without  waiting  for 
further  acknowledgments,  the  old  fisherman  left  the  room. 

The  generous  donation  of  the  honest  old  fisherman  was  of 
essential  service  to  Mrs.  Ashley,  who,  with  all  the  kindness  of 
the  few  friends  who  sympathized  with  her  husband's  misfortunes, 
found  it  difficult  to  get  along  with  her  large  family,  thus  left 
so  dependent  solely  upon  her  exertions. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  her  husband  was  restored 
to  her.  He  found  little  difficulty  in  getting  his  certificate,  for 
it  was  proved  in  court  that  his  bankruptcy  had  been  caused 
by  misfortunes  over  which  he  had  no  control,  and  he  was  dis 
charged.  Some  friends  likewise  assisted  him  with  a  trifling 
Joan,  and  he  returned  to  his  family,  with  the  intention  of  open 
ing  a  school  in  a  village  on  the  sea  coast,  a  few  miles  distant 
from  Harrington.  It  was  a  small  watering  place  to  which  he 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  89 

retired,  much  frequented  in  summer  on  account  of  its  excellent 
advantages  for  sea-bathing,  and  he  thought  here  there  was  a 
probability  of  success. 

Thither  he  removed  with  his  wife  and  children,  leaving  Mrs. 
Dalton  and  her  son  and  Alice  Thornton  in  the  town,  where  for 
some  years  she  had  earned  a  living,  poor  enough,  it  is  true,  but 
still  a  living  for  herself  and  her  boy,  with  her  needle. 


90  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER   X. 

Contains  some  account  of  Herrington  and  its  inhabitants,  and  tells  how  Gerald 
Dalton  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  home  and  seek  his  fortune. 

IT  was  not  the  best  situation  for  a  high  spirited  boy  of 
twelve  years  old  to  be  placed  in,  that  in  which  Gerald  Dalton 
was  placed  in  now.  Debarred  by  his  mother's  want  of  means 
from  the  advantages  of  a  regular  school  education,  for  Mr. 
Ashley  had  removed  too  far  off  for  him  to  attend  his  school 
any  longer,  he  was  dependent  for  such  instruction,  as  she  had 
time  to  give,  upon  his  mother ;  but  she  had  but  little  leisure 
during  the  day-time  to  bestow  upon  him,  and  the  consequence 
was,  that,  although  a  well-disposed  boy,  much  of  the  time  that 
ought  to  have  been  employed  in  study  was  spent  in  wandering 
abroad,  arid  though  in  obedience  to  his  mother's  wishes,  he 
kept  himself  aloof  from  the  vicious  boys  of  the  neighborhood, 
such  a  training  as  this,  for  a  boy  of  his  years,  necessarily  led 
to  a  love  of  roaming  and  a  disaffection  to  steady,  settled  pur 
suits,  calculated  to  have  a  bad  influence  over  him  when,  after  a 
lapse  of  a  year  or  two  more,  he  should  commence  to  earn  his 
own  living  and  to  learn  to  depend  upon  his  own  exertions. 

A  great  portion  of  his  time  was  spent  upon  the  sea  beach, 
watching  the  operations  of  the  sailors,  boatmen,  and  fishermen, 
or  listening  to  their  marvelous  yarns — Jemmy  Milton  standing 
pre-eminent  as  a  narrator  of  wonderful  stories.  Nothing,  in  fact, 
was  too  stupendously  marvelous  to  cause  Jemmy  to  hesitate. 
Whether  in  his  younger  years  he  had  read  Gulliver's  travels, 


HERRINGTON   AS    IT   WAS.  91 

and  Baron  Munchausen's  adventures,  and  the  History  of  Robin 
son  Crusoe,  and  mingled  the  whole  together  and  thought  over 
them  until  he  believed  them  true,  and  himself  to  have  been  an 
actor  in  the  wonderful  adventures  through  which  these  heroes 
passed,  or  whether  his  marvelous  stories  were  the  product  of 
his  own  imagination,  aided  by  a  recollection  of  the  scenes  he  had 
witnessed  during  a  long  and  adventurous  ocean  career,  I  cannot 
say ,  but  it  is  certain  that  Jemmy  had  become  so  habituated  to 
dealing  in  the  marvelous,  that  he  actually  believed  what  he 
said,  and  told  his  stories  with  so  much  sententious  gravity, 
never  allowing  a  muscle  of  his  face  to  relax,  although  the  listen 
ers  were  convulsed  with  laughter,  that  to  the  boys  in  Herrington 
he  was  a  living  story-book,  always  full  of  new  fairy  tales  and 
wonderful  adventures  by  sea  and  land,  infinitely  more  amusing 
than  any  printed  story-book  they  had  ever  read,  while  over 
grown  men  listened  to  him  with  wonder  and  admiration  ;  but 
then,  with  the  few  exceptions  that  always  go  to  prove  the  rule, 
the  inhabitants  of  Herrington  were  not  remarkable  for  refine 
ment  or  intelligence. 

Steam  and  the  electric  telegraph  have  done  great  wonders 
for  Herrington,  which  is  now  a  thriving  seaport  and  a  fashion 
able  watering  place,  possessing  several  admirably  appointed 
hotels,  elegant  streets  and  piers,  and  numerous  villas  situated 
on  the  summit  of  its  lofty  cliff,  affording  a  glorious  view  of  the 
straits,  and  on  fine,  clear  days,  of  the  French  Coast  opposite, 
at  a  distance  of  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles.  It  is  now,  in 
fact,  the  chief  outlet  to  the  continent,  and  the  first  place  that  the 
continental  visitor  sets  foot  on  visiting  England.  Where  in 
former  days  lay  the  Dutch  galliot,  discharging  its  cargo  of 
cheese  and  eggs,  direct  from  Holland,  or  the  single-masted 
"  hoy,"  waiting  to  convey  passengers  to  the  channel  ports,  may 
now  be  seen  the  packet  steamers,  just  returned  from  or  just 
about  to  depart  for  Boulogne,  freighted  with  passengers  of  all  ranks 
of  life,  and  the  bustle  now  observable  upon  the  quays,  would 
have  astonished  the  inhabitants  of  Herrington  of  the  past  gen- 


92  THE    WANDERER. 

eration.  The  Dutch  galliots,  with  their  quaint  crews  and  odd 
cargoes,  may  still  be  seen ;  but  the  modest,  humble  hoy,  has 
gone  the  way  of  the  old  stage  coach,  and  is  now  among  the 
things  that  were. 

Yet  Herrington  boasts  of  great  antiquity,  and  according  to 
its  inhabitants,  once  possessed  seven  churches,  and  streets  and 
houses,  stretching  far  out  where  now  flows  the  sea,  which  accord 
ing  to  ancient  legend  has  encroached  upon  miles  of  land,  and 
undermined  and  crumbled  vast  masses  of  the  huge  cliffs,  the 
remnants  of  which,  while  they  seem  to  bid  defiance  to  its  fur 
ther  encroachments,  still  to  this  day  suffer  from  its  never  ceas 
ing  process  of  undermining ;  but  the  men  of  Herrington, 

" Grown  wiser  than  of  yore, 

Build  rearward  now,  who  seaward  built  before." 

At  the  period  of  which  I  write,  and  for  many  years  before,  the 
ostensible  occupation  of  the  greater  portion  of  its  inhabitants 
had  been  that  of  fishing  and  curing  red  herrings.  From  this 
latter  occupation,  probably,  was  derived  its  euphonious  designa 
tion.  But  the  real  occupation  of  the  people,  "  and  that  in  which 
they  took  the  most  delight,"  was  smuggling.  For  several  gen 
erations  the  Herringtonians  had  been  smugglers,  root  and 
branch.  The  wealthy  residents,  and  there  were  several  pos 
sessed  of  considerable  wealth,  had  made  their  fortunes  by  con 
traband  trade  and  then  retired  from  the  profession.  The 
mayor,  and  the  members  of  the  corporation,  the  town  clerk, 
and  the  parish  clerk,  the  beadle,  the  town  crier  and  the  very 
watchmen,  had  been  or  were  all  more  or  less  concerned  in  this 
nefarious  occupation.  Probably  there  was  not  a  resident  of 
the  place,  excepting  the  vicar,  and  the  dissenting  minister,  and 
the  doctor,  and  the  schoolmaster,  that  had  not  been  more  or 
less  a  smuggler.  As  to  the  lawyer,  the  only  lawyer  the  town 
boasted,  he  was  well  known  to  be  the  most  successful  smuggler 
of  the  lot.  Smuggling  was,  however,  on  the  wane.  The  vigil 
ance  exercised  by  the  officers  of  the  coast-guard,  had  rendered 
it  more  perilous  and  less  profitable  than  of  old,  and  the  wealthy 


A   LEARNED    CORPORATION.  93 

few  who  had  retired  from  the  business  now  professed  to  look 
upon  it  with  holy  horror. 

This  occupation,  carried  on  for  years,  and  looked  upon  as  the 
natural  destiny  of  a  Herringtonian,  although  it  had  in  some 
respects  rendered  them  shrewd,  brave,  and  sharp-witted,  had  not 
been  favorable  to  the  progress  of  education,  and  probably  a 
body  of  people  more  ignorant  of  "  book-learning,"  as  they  con 
temptuously  expressed  themselves  when  speaking  of  education, 
was  not  to  be  found  in  Great  Britain.  It  is  a  well  known  his 
torical  fact,  that  towards  the  close  of  the  last  century,  the 
Board  of  Admiralty  in  London,  sent  orders  to  the  mayors  of 
all  the  channel  ports  to  whitewash  the  land  marks  in  order  to 
render  them  more  readily  recognizable  to  mariners.  Herring- 
ton  church,  perched  high  upon  the  cliffs,  was  a  well  known 
land  mark,  and  the  mayor  of  Herrington  received  an  order  to 
the  same  effect  as  his  compeers.  His  worship  was  overpow 
ered  with  conflicting  emotions  of  delight  and  consternation. 
Arrant  smuggler  as  he  had  been,  he  was  elated  at  the  idea  of 
receiving  a  communication  in  his  official  capacity  from  the 
Board  of  Admiralty  ;  but  the  matter  was  one  of  too  great  im 
portance,  in  his  estimation,  to  be  decided  upon  without  holding 
a  consultation  with  his  civic  advisers.  The  corporation  was 
forthwith  assembled  to  hold  a  special  meeting  in  the  Town 
Hall,  and  in  a  flutter  of  agitation  the  mayor  handed  the  official 
letter  to  the  town  clerk,  to  read.  "Reading  and  writing  coming 
by  naturo,  and  being  no  gift  of  fortune,"  as  honest  Dogberry 
hath  it,  was  not  one  of  his  worship's  qualifications. 

The  document  was  read,  or  rather  spelled  through  by  the 
clerk. 

"  We  must  appropriate  a  sum  of  money  to  this  purpose 
immediately,"  said  the  mayor,  when  the  clerk  had  finished  the 
reading,  looking  round  with  conscious  dignity  upon  the  assem 
bled  civic  officers. 

"  May  it  please  your  worship,"  said  an  old  alderman,  rising 


94  THE    WANDERER. 

from  his  seat,  "  there  is  more  room  for  discussion  and  reflec 
tion  in  this  order  than  your  worship  perceives." 

"  Ha !  what  is  that  ?"  said  the  mayor.  "  To  me  it  seems 
clear  enough.  What  say  you,  gentlemen'?"  addressing  the 
remainder  of  the  Board. 

"Has  your  worship  observed,"  continued  the  alderman, 
"  that  their  gracious  lordships  have  not  said  what  color  the 
church  is  to  be  whitewashed  ?" 

"  No,"  responded  half  a  dozen  voices.  "  We  must  send  to 
London  for  further  explanation  before  we  proceed.  Their 
lordships  have  evidently  forgot  to  state  what  color  the  church 
is  to  be  whitewashed." 

The  mayor  was  convinced.  He  marveled  that  he  had  not 
noticed  the  omission  before,  but  it  might  be  a  mistake  of  their 
own.  The  clerk  was  ordered  to  read  the  document  again.  No, 
there  was  no  mention  of  the  color,  and  forthwith  the  clerk  was 
directed  to  draw  out  a  letter  of  inquiry,  to  which  the  mayor 
and  aldermen  each  affixed  "  +,  his  mark,"  requesting  the  neces 
sary  instructions,  to  which  it  is  presumed  a  reply  was  duly  re 
ceived,  for  in  process  of  time  the  church  was — whitewashed. 

A  story  also  is  told  of  the  Herringtonians,  to  the  effect, 
that  fearful  of  contagion,  once  upon  a  time,  when  the  small-pox 
was  raging  violently  in  a  neighboring  village,  they  stretched 
fishing  nets  around  the  town  to  keep  out  the  horrible  disease  ; 
but  this  story  is  not  so  well  authenticated  as  the  latter,  and 
many  persons  incline  to  believe  that  it  is  a  malicious  libel 
cast  upon  the  Herringtonians  by  some  of  their  envious 
neighbors. 

Encounters  between  the  coast-guardmen  and  the  smugglers 
were  by  no  means  of  rare  occurrence,  nor  were  the  magis 
trates  at  all  prompt  in  rendering  their  official  aid  to  the  officers 
of  the  government  in  these  instances ;  for,  although  they  pro 
fessed  to  frown  upon  the  offence  against  the  laws,  even  those 
who  no  longer  traded  in  contraband  themselves  could  not  dis 
possess  themselves  of  the  fellow  feeling  that  makes  us  won- 


A    LEARNED    CORPORATION.  95 

drous  kind  towards  certain  sins  of  others.  It  was  not  an  un 
common  sight  to  witness  a  stalwart  smuggler,  who  had  been 
captured,  led  to  prison  between  a  file  of  coast-guard  men  with 
their  officers  at  their  head,  all  with  their  swords  drawn  to  be 
in  readiness  to  oppose  any  attempt  at  rescue  that  might  be 
made,  and  that  but  for  these  precautions,  would  have  been 
made  ;  and  as  the  prisoner  passed  haughtily  along  the  streets, 
carelessly  smoking  his  pipe  while  surrounded  by  his  captors, 
windows  would  be  thrown  up,  sometimes  those  of  the  houses 
of  the  magistrates,  and  fair  ladies  would  wrave  their  handker 
chiefs  in  sympathy  with  the  shouts  of  the  populace,  encouraging 
the  offender  against  the  laws,  and  bidding  him  be  of  good 
cheer. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  such  a  population  as  this  that  Gerald 
Dalton  lived  from  the  age  of  eight  to  fourteen  years,  and  dur 
ing  the  last  two  years  of  this  period  he  was  free  from  the  salu 
tary  restraints  that  would  have  been  imposed  upon  him  had  he 
regularly  frequented  a  school. 

However,  the  anxious  care  of  his  mother  preserved  him 
from  the  effects  of  many  of  the  evil  influences  that  might  other 
wise  have  operated  dangerously  upon  his  young  mind. 

That  which  she  most  dreaded  was  the  effects  of  his  com 
panionship  with  boys  of  his  own  age,  who,  not  subjected  to  the 
moral  restraints,  nor  influenced  by  the  teachings  her  own  boy 
found  at  home,  might  counteract  her  endeavors ;  and  she  en 
deavored,  as  much  as  possible,  to  render  his  home,  and  the 
society  he  found  there,  attractive  to  him. 

In  this  effort,  she  in  a  great  measure  succeeded,  and  his 
evenings  were  generally  spent  at  home,  where  he  was  some 
times  engaged  in  study,  and  sometimes  in  reading  aloud  to  his 
mother  and  Alice  Thornton. 

Gerald,  however,  had  formed  a  strong  attachment  to  Jemmy 
Milton,  and  he  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  could  catch  the 
old  fisherman  alone,  mending  his  nets  or  repairing  his  boats, 
and  entice  him  to  talk  of  the  strange  scenes  he  had  witnessed 


96  THE    WANDERER. 

and  the  perilous  adventures  he  had  passed  through  on  the 
ocean  and  in  foreign  lands.  Though  he  was  sometimes  a  little 
staggered  by  the  fabulous  tone  of  Jemmy's  yarns,  he  generally 
received  them  as  truth,  and  often  wished  that  he  could  witness 
such  strange  sights  and  dare  such  perils. 

Setting  aside  the  glaring  improbability  of  Jemmy's  stories, 
they  were  neither  dangerous  nor  immoral.  Indeed,  in  his  wild' 
est  flights  of  imagination,  it  would  appear  that  he  endeavored 
to  convey  some  moral  to  his  listeners,  and  the  kind-hearted 
though  eccentric  old  man  was  never  so  happy  himself  as  when 
he  had  a  happy  group  of  children  round  him  and  witnessed  the 
delight  they  derived  from  hearing  him  tell  his  wondrous  stories. 

Thus  two  years  passed  away,  and  Gerald  Dalton  and  Alice 
Thornton  were  each  fourteen  years  old.  Gerald,  although  he 
had  missed  the  educational  advantages  possessed  by  boys  more 
favored  by  fortune  than  he  had  been,  was  a  well  informed  lad. 
Mrs.  Dalton  was  a  lady  of  superior  education,  although  re 
duced  in  circumstances,  as  the  reader  is  aware;  and  in  some 
respects,  perhaps  Gerald  had  profited  more  by  his  home  in 
structions  than  he  would  have  done  at  school,  and  he  had  ac 
quired  a  refinement  of  manner  from  the  constant  society  of 
his  mother  and  Alice,  which  most  favorably  distinguished  him 
from  the  generality  of  the  town  boys. 

It  was  now  time  that  he  should  be  bound  apprentice  to  some 
trade  or  profession,  or  go  into  some  office  in  which  he  could 
learn  to  maintain  himself,  and  the  knowledge  of  this  and  the 
difficulty  of  finding  a  place  suitable  for  him  was  a  great  source 
of  anxiety  and  trouble  to  Mrs.  Dalton. 

Gerald  had  a  taste  for  drawing,  and  it  was  his  mother's  de 
sire  that  he  should  make  it  useful  to  him,  as  it  would  be  if  he 
were  to  become  an  engraver,  and  although  the  boy  was  willing 
to  follow  her  wishes,  his  own  fancy  leaned  to  some  more  adven 
turous  life,  he  cared  little  what,  provided  it  gave  occupation  to 
his  daring  spirit.  But  his  mother  shrunk  from  the  thought  of 
this ;  and  yet,  to  place  him  in  the  office  of  a  merchant,  or 


GOOD  ADVICE.  97 

the  shop  of  a  tradesman,  would  require  a  fee  beyond  her 
means.  She  resolved  at  length,  after  much  thought,  to  con 
sult  with  Doctor  Knight  and  the  vicar  upon  the  subject. 

One  day  Gerald  had,  as  usual,  when  he  had  a  leisure  hour 
to  spare  from  the  studies  to  which  Mrs.  Dalton  kept  him  con 
fined  as  closely  as  she  thought  advisable,  strolled  down  to  the 
beach  in  the  hope  of  meeting  with  Jemmy  Milton.  He  found 
the  old  man  in  the  boat-house  mending  his  nets,  and  whistling 
merrily  the  tune  of  an  old  sea-song.  A  mug  of  beer  stood  on 
a  bench  by  his  side,  on  which  also  lay  his  pipe. 

"  Ah,  Gerald,  my  boy,"  said  he,  as  the  youth  entered  the 
boat-house,  "  so  you've  come  to  have  a  chat  with  old  Jemmy, 
have  ye.  Well,  sit  down,  take  care  of  the  pipe  though,  don't 
break  that.— There,  that'll  do.  Well,  what's  the  news  at  home  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Gerald,  who  appeared  to  be  in  lower 
spirits  than  usual.  The  old  fisherman  observed  this. 

"Why,  Gerry,  boy,"  he  said,  "you  seem  dull  and  mopish 
to-day.  You're  not  sick,  eh  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  youth,  "I'm  pretty  well,  Jemmy." 

"  Then  you  should  never  be  down-hearted.  I  hold  it  a  sin 
and  a  shame  to  be  downhearted,  in  God's  world,  where  there 
is  so  much  to  enjoy,  if  enybody  only  takes  the  right  view  of 
things.  If  it  storms  to-day,  why  what's  the  odds,  it's  more  like 
to  be  sunshine  to-morrow.  No  good  ever  comes  o'mopin." 
And  the  old  man  sung  in  a  cheerful  voice,  a  snatch  of  a  song 
as  was  his  habit  often  in  the  midst  of  a  conversation. 

"  Then  away  with  melancholy  while  time  is  on  the  wing, 
We  can't  prevent  its  flying,  so  let's  merrily,  cherrily  sing 
Fal  la." 

"  There's  good  sound  sense  in  that  'ere  ditty,  Master  Gerald, 
if  the  world  only  knowed  it,"  he  said,  as  he  ceased  singing. 

"  I  am  not  down-hearted  without  a  cause,"  replied  Gerald. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  boy  ?"  asked  the  old  man ;  "  you 
said  there  was  nothing  the  matter  at  home.  Folks  all  well  and 
hearty,  eh1?" 

5 


98  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Yes,  mother  is  well,  and  so  is  Alice ;  and  so  were  Uncle 
Ashley's  folks  when  last  we  heard  from  them.  But,  Jemmy, 
I'm  fourteen  years  old  to-day,  and  it's  high  time  that  I  ceased 
to  be  a  burden  to  rny  mother.  Alice  maintains  herself  by 
sewing ;  but  here  am  I,  a  great  lazy  fellow  of  fourteen,  without 
anything  to  do  that  will  bring  me  in  a  penny,  or  relieve  my 
mother  of  the  charge  of  supporting  me.  I  ought  to  maintain 
her  now,  not  she  me." 

"  There's  some  truth  in  that,  Master  Gerald/'  thoughtfully 
observed  the  old  fisherman. 

"  I'd  go  to  sea,  or  go  and  seek  my  fortune  somewhere  or 
other,  if  mother  would  give  her  consent,"  continued  Gerald. 
"By  George,  I'm  almost  inclined  to  go  away  from  home  se 
cretly.  Mother  would  forgive  me,  I  know,  when  she  came  to 
know  that  my  object  was  to  assist  her  and  myself  at  the  same 
time." 

"  Not  go  away  from  home  agin  your  mother's  wish,  Master 
Gerald  ]"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Why,  what  do  women  know  as  to  what  a  man  ought  to 
do  ?  and  I  ought  to  be  a  man  now,"  said  the  boy,  impatiently. 
"It  would  be  better  for  myself;  better  for  mother — and,"  he 
added,  after  a  pause,  "  better  for  Alice." 

"  Master  Gerald,"  said  the  old  man,  gravely,  "  I'm  sorry  to 
hear  you  talk  that  a  ways.  1  never  had  a  wife,  or  I  should 
p'raps  have  been  a  better  and  a  happier  man.  I  should  have 
had  a  wife  if  I  had  followed  the  advice  of  my  mother;  but  I 
was  headstrong,  and  went  a  long  v'yage  to  sea  agin  her  wish. 
She  wished  me  to  stay  in  the  coastin'  trade  and  marry  poor 
Jane,  who's  dead  and  gone  years  and  years  ago.  They  heerd 
as  I  was  lost,  and  Jane,  agin  her  will,  poor  thing,  married  some 
body  else.  I  came  back,  and  she  took  it  so  much  to  heart  that 
she'd  been  and  gone,  and  married  a  man  as  she  didn't  care  for, 
while  I  was  living,  that  she  broke  her  heart.  I  vowed  arter  that 
as  I'd  never  marry,  and  I  didn't.  But  Gerald,  take  an  old  man's 
advice  as  has  seen  the  world  and  is  old  enough  to  be  your 


GOOD    ADVICE.  99 

grandfather.  Never  speak  contemptuous  of  women.  No  man 
ever  spoke  contemptuous  of  women  without  his  havin'  a  bad 
heart  as  well  as  a  bad  head.  God  made  'em  to  be  our  help 
mates,  boy.  He  made  'em  to  be  man's  earthly  support,  his 
encouragement  in  trials,  his  comfort  in  sorrow  and  affliction, 
his  nurse  in  sickness,  his  earliest  teacher,  his  last  friend,  his 
mother,  his  sister,  his  wife.  And  without  mother,  sister  or 
wife,  what  would  man  be  1  Sister  or  wife,  wus  luck,  I  never 
had ;  but  I  had  a  mother,  boy,  and  if  she  war  alive  now,  or  if 
I  had  been  blessed  with  a  wife  or  sister,  mayhap  Jemmy 
Milton  wouldn't  be  the  poor  unfortunit  old  vagabone  he  is 
now." 

The  old  man's  voice  had  trembled  with  suppressed  emotion 
as  he  spoke,  and  now,  for  some  minutes,  he  remained  silent, 
and  when  he  again  spoke,  it  was  to  repeat  his  voice  of  warning. 

"Master  Gerald,  whatever  you  do,  don't  go  agin  your 
mother." 

"  Nor  will  I,  Jemmy,"  replied  the  youth.  "  I  never  enter 
tained  such  a  thought ;  but  I  wish  I  had  some  friend  who  could 
persuade  mother  that  it  were  better  for  herself,  as  well  as  for 
me,  that  I  should  be  endeavoring  now  to  make  my  own  way 
in  the  world." 

'"  Well,  there  is  sense  in  that ;  there  is  sense  in  that,"  re 
peated  the  old  fisherman.  "  Suppose,  now,  you  should  get 
your  uncle  to  speak  to  her.  He's  a  clever  man,  Mr.  Ashley. 
I've  a  great  opinion  on  him  myself.  S'pose  you  was  to  go 
over  now  to  Sandgate  and  ax  him  to  come  over  to  Herrington 
and  give  Mrs.  Dalton  a  bit  of  his  mind." 

"  1  have  thought  of  that,  Jemmy,"  replied  Gerald,  "  but  I 
don't  think  Uncle  Ashley  would  be  of  much  use ;  Cousin  Fred 
erick  is  as  old  as  I  am,  and  he's  at  home  yet." 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  returned  the  old  man.  "  Still 
I've  lived  long  enough  to  know  as  two  heads  is  wiser  nor  one. 
Mr.  Ashley  and  your  mother  mought  put  their  heads  together 
and  suinmat  mought  come  out  o't." 


100  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Gerald,  "  I  will  go  over  to  Sandgate  one 
day  next  week,  and  speak  to  uncle." 

"  And  if  nought  comes,  o'  that,  Gerald,  you  mought  speak  to 
Mr.  Pearce,  the  parson,  up  at  the  vicarage,  you  know,  or  to 
Dr.  Knight.  Both  of  'em  are  real  gentlemen,  and  friends  of 
your  mother.  I  would  speak  to  her  myself,  but  the  words  of 
an  old  wagabone  like  me  wouldn't  go  for  much." 

Gerald  coincided  with  Jemmy's  opinion  as  far  as  regarded 
the  assertion  that  his  advice  would  not  be  such  as  his  mother 
would  be  prone  to  listen  to  ;  not  that  he  or  his  mother  thought 
the  honest,  eccentric  old  fisherman  a  vagabond,  but  anything 
that  Jemmy  might  suggest  would,  as  Gerald  well  knew,  be  of 
a  nature  to  frighten  his  mother  into  the  belief  that  he  was  urg 
ing  her  son  into  just  the  reckless  course  of  adventure  she 
wished  him  to  avoid. 

"  Now,  I'm  goin'  to  launch  my  boat,  Gerald,  boy,  and  exam 
ine  the  nets  I  laid  last  night  in  the  creek,"  said  Jernmy,  rising 
up  and  putting  his  tools  in  the  locker.  "  S'pose  you  lend  me  a 
hand,  and  mayhap,  if  I've  luck,  I'll  give  ye  some  fish  to  take 
home." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  agreeable  to  Gerald  than  such 
a  proposition  as  this.  He  consented  with  alacrity,  and  for  the 
present,  the  subject  of  conversation  was  dropped. 


A   VISIT   TO   LONDON.  101 


CHAPTER  XI. 

In  which  it  is  shown  that  misfortune  still  presses  upon  Mr.  Ashley;  but  he 
meets  with  a  friend  in  the  hour  of  need,  and  goes  to  London.  Showing 
further  how  Gerald  Dalton  accompanied  him  thither. 

MR.  ASHLEY  had  not  succeeded  so  well  as  he  had  anticipat 
ed  in  Sandgate ;  true,  it  was  a  snug  little  watering  place  enough, 
and  during  the  summer  season  was  tolerably  well  supplied 
with  visitors,  and  the  visitors  brought  children  with  them  ;  all 
this  was  very  fine,  but  the  children  came  for  pleasure  and  re 
creation  as  well  as  their  parents,  and  did  not  go  to  Mr.  Ashley's 
school.  With  the  exception  of  the  few  hotels  and  boarding- 
house  keepers,  the  villagers  were  all  fishermen,  smugglers,  coast 
guardsmen,  or  petty  shopkeepers,  all  of  a  class  that  did  not 
care  for  the  education  of  their  children,  or  if  they  did,  could 
not  afford  to  pay  for  it,  while  the  children  of  the  aforesaid  hotel 
and  boarding-house-  keepers,  were  weekly  boarders  at  Mr. 
Clarke's  school  at  Herrington.  Mr.  Ashley's  success  at  Sand- 
gate  was  limited  to  the  patronage  of  some  half  dozen  of  his 
former  Herrington  friends,  who  sent  their  children  as  weekly 
boarders  to  Sandgate,  and  so  got  them  educated  for  nothing, 
and  boarded  for  nothing  into  the  bargain,  since  they  paid  for 
neither. 

Gerald  Dalton  walked  out  to  his  uncle  Ashley's,  as  he  had 
intimated  to  the  old  fisherman,  and  after  relating  his  troubles, 
asked  Mr.  Ashley's  advice. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Gerald,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  scarcely  know 
what  to  advise.  You  are  right,  quite  right,  not  to  wish,  at 


102  THE    WANDERER. 

your  age,  to  be  longer  a  burden  to  your  mother ;  It  is  time, 
too,  that  Frederick  should  be  doing  something  for  himself, 
and  he  is  anxious  to  do  something,  poor  fellow !  but  I  am  ut 
terly  unable  to  do  any  thing  for  him." 

"  Cousin  Fred  might  help  you,  uncle,  in  the  school,"  inter 
posed  Gerald,  "  I  only  wish  I  could  help  my  mother  with  her 
work." 

Mr.  Ashley  smiled  mournfully. 

"  The  school,  Gerald,"  he  replied,  "  does  not  suffice  to  furnish 
me  with  employment:  but  come,  I  am  going,  over  to  Herring- 
ton  this  afternoon  to  see  Mr.  Pearce.  Suppose  you  walk  over 
with  me  if  you  have  rested  yourself  sufficiently,  and  ask  his  ad 
vice.  Mr.  Pearce  has  often  spoken  favorably  of  you  to  me. 
He  may  suggest  something." 

Gerald  willingly  complied,  and  the  uncle  and  nephew  sat 
out  together. 

The  object  of  Mr.  Ashley  in  calling  upon  the  Vicar,  was  to 
hold  further  conversation  respecting  a  matter  which  had  here 
tofore  been  discussed  between  them. 

Ever  since  the  former  had  resigned  the  pastoral  care  of  Zion 
Chapel,  he  had  entertained  a  desire  to  unite  himself  with  the 
Established  Church  ;  in  fact  his  ambition  was  to  become  a  min 
ister  of  that  persuasion  :  but  there  stood  in  his  path  an  insur 
mountable  barrier,  he  had  not  received  a  university  education, 
and  this  additional  one,  he  had  no  family  or  church  influence 
to  aid  him.  Mr.  Pearce,  however,  desirous  of  assisting  him 
as  far  as  lay  in  his  power,  had  exerted  his  influence  to  obtain 
for  him  an  appointment  as  chaplain  to  one  of  the  colonies  ;  not,  be 
it  said,  with  much  hope  of  success,  for  he  was  well  aware  of 
the  difficulties  that  interposed  themselves  in  the  way  of  his  ob 
taining  even  this  by  no  means  coyetable  preferment,  even  if 
he  could  succeed  in  getting  ordained  to  holy  orders  \  but  the 
vicar  had  written  to  one  of  his  friends,  who  had  spoken  of  the 
matter  to  one  of  the  bishops,  and  as  soon  as  the  vicar  received 
the  letter  notifying  him  of  this,  he  had  sent  for  Mr.  Ashley  to 
call  at  the  parsonage  house  at  his  earliest  leisure. 


THE   SCHOOL   A    FAILURE.  103 

The  few  miles  between  Sandgate  and  Herrington  being  a 
pleasant  walk  along  the  margin  of  the  clifFs,  were  soon  passed 
over,  and  within  a  couple  of  hours  from  leaving  Sandgate,  Mr. 
Ashley  and  his  nephew  reached  the  vicarage. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Ashley,"  said  the  vicar,  when 
his  visitors  were  ushered  into  his  presence  by  the  servant ; 
•'  and  you  too,  Gerald.  Pray  be  seated.  Why,  what  a  tall 
boy  you  are  growing.  Do  you  go  to  school  at  Sandgate  ]" 

"  No  sir,"  replied  Gerald ;  "  I  have  been  over  to  see  uncle, 
and  we  walked  back  from  Sandgate  together." 

"  Well  then,  you  will  both  need  some  refreshment  after  your 
walk,  and  then  your  uncle  and  I  will  have  a  little  talk  together? 
and  meanwhile,  you  can  go  and  amuse  yourself  in  the  garden." 

Refreshments  were  ordered,  and  soon  brought  in,  and  a 
variety  of  common-place  subjects  filled  up  the  conversation 
until  they  had  been  partaken  of,  when  Gerald  left  the  room, 
and  Mr.  Pearce  at  once  broached  the  subject  on  account  of 
which  he  had  sent  for  Mr.  Ashley. 

"  How  does  the  school  succeed,  Mr.  Ashley  ?"  he  asked,  by 
way  of  preliminary.  "Any  prospect  of  an  increase  ?" 

"  Indeed,  no  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Ashley ;  "  I  shall  be  compel 
led  to  give  it  up.  It  is  useless  endeavoring  to  carry  it  on 
longer.  I  find  it  impossible  to  make  both  ends  meet.  In  fact, 
I  am  getting  unavoidably  into  debt,  and  my  prospects  grow 
every  day  more  gloomy." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,  very  sorry,"  said  the  kind-hearted 
vicar ;  "  however,  let  us  talk  of  other  matters.  1  have  received 
a  letter  from  a  friend  of  mine,  a  member  of  Parliament,  who 
is  acquainted  with  the  Bishop  of .  He  has  interested  him 
self,  through  my  representations  in  your  behalf.  A  meeting  is 
shortly  to  take  place.  Let  me  see — this  is  Saturday — a  meeting 
will  be  held  this  very  day  fortnight  at  Exeter  Hall  in  Lon 
don,  which  will  be  attended  by  several  of  the  dignified  clergy, 
to  take  into  consideration  the  qualifications  of  the  various  can 
didates  for  the  appointment  of  chaplain  to  three  or  four  gov- 


104  THE   WANDERER 

ernment  establishments ;  one,  the  most  eligible,  I  mean  as 
regards  the  climate,  is  in  Newfoundland;  the  others  are  on 
the  coast  of  Africa.  Your  application,  sent  through  me,  will 
be  taken  into  consideration  among  the  rest ;  but  I  do  not  \vish 
to  raise  high  expectations.  Some  of  the  candidates  have  been 
already  ordained,  and  others  have  not  the  impediments  to  con 
tend  with  in  getting  ordained  that  you  will  meet  with.  Still, 
I  should  not  like  you  to  miss  the  chance,  and  even  if  you  should 
not  succeed  in  this  matter,  there  are  several  schools  to  be  or 
ganized  by  the  government,  to  one  of  which,  I  think,  in  the 
event  of  your  failing  in  your  principal  object,  you  may  suc 
ceed  in  getting  an  appointment.  But  it  will  be  necessary  for 
you  to  be  present  on  the  occasion.  Can  you  go  up  to  London 
during  the  week  after  next  1" 

"The  school  will  be  no  hindrance,"  replied  Mr.  Ashley, 
"  since  I  shall  close  it  next  Saturday  ;  but" — he  hesitated,  and 
the  vicar,  suspecting  the  cause  of  his  hesitation,  observed  : — • 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  I  know,  Mr.  Ashley,  for  speaking  so 
freely ;  you  would  observe  that  you  have  not  funds  sufficient 
to  bear  the  expenses  of  the  journey '?" 

"  You  have  surmised  correctly,"  said  Mr.  Ashley,  the  color 
mounting  to  his  forehead. 

"And  I  have  met  the  difficulty,"  continued  the  vicar.  "  There 
is  a  society  in  London — you  may  have  heard  of  it — the  object 
of  which  is  to  afford  relief  to  gentlemen  of  your  class  who 
have  unavoidably,  and  through  no  fault  of  their  own,  fallen 
into  poverty.  I  have  obtained  for  you  the  sum  of  thirty 
pounds  through  the  friend  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  and  do 
not  think  that  in  doing  this  your  delicacy  has  been  wounded. 
Except  to  the  committee  appointed  to  examine  into  the  merits 
of  the  cases  presented  to  them,  your  name  and  circumstances 
are  unknown." 

Mr.  Ashley  grasped  the  worthy  vicar's  hand,  and  with  tears 
in  his  eyes  thanked  him  for  his  generous  interference  in  his 
behalf. 


A   BOY'S    ANXIETY.  105 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  say  no  more  about  that,"  said  the 
vicar.  "  I  am  only  glad  that  I  have  had  the  opportunity  of 
serving  you.  I  suppose,  now,  there  will  be  nothing  to  prevent 
you  from  being  at  Exeter  Hall  at  the  time  appointed  for  the 
several  candidates  to  meet1?" 

"Nothing,"  returned  Mr.  Ashley. 

"  Then  we  will  say  nothing  further  about  the  matter  at  pre 
sent.  By  the  way,"  he  added  suddenly,  with  the  object  of 
changing  the  conversation,  "  I  have  quite  forgotten  to  ask 
after  your  family.  How  are  Mrs.  Ashley  and  the  children  ?" 

"  They  are  all  quite  well  at  present,  though  my  wife  is  still 
subject  to  frequent  attacks  of  illness,"  replied  Mr.  Ashley. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  returned  the  vicar.  "  Let  me 
see,  Frederick  is  the  name  of  your  oldest  boy  ;  I  have  not 
seen  him  for  some  time ;  he  must  be  about  the  age  of  Gerald, 
is  he  not1?" 

"  Nearly  the  same  age;  both  have  passed  their  fourteenth 
year.  It  is  time  that  Frederick  was  learning  some  business. 
It  is  wrong  for  a  man  in  my  circumstances,  with  a  family  like 
mine  to  support,  to  keep  the  boy  at  home  so  long ;  but  what 
am  I  to  do  ?" 

"Very  true — very  true,"  said  the  vicar;  "but  if  you  go 
abroad,  you  would  of  course  like  the  boy  to  go  with  you,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  he  will  be  either  useful  to  you  there,  or  some 
thing  eligible  for  him  will  offer  itself.  Here  comes  Gerald. 
What  does  Mrs.  Dalton  intend  to  do  with  that  lad?  He  is  a 
fine  intelligent  little  fellow." 

"Poor  woman,"  said  Mr.  Ashley,  "she  is  in  the  same  pre 
dicament  with  myself.  She  does  not  know  what  to  do  with 
him  ;  and  the  boy  himself  is  anxious  to  be  no  longer  a  burthen 
to  her.  He  would  soon  settle  the  question  himself  if  he  could 
have  his  own  way  ;  and,  I  believe,  would  go  to  sea,  for  he  is 
an  adventurous  youth  ;  but  he  is  his  mother's  only  child,  and 
she  cannot  bear  the  idea  of  his  leaving  her  to  engage  in  such 
a  perilous  avocation.  In  fact,  the  boy  walked  out  to  Sandgate 
to-day  to  advise  with  me  upon  the  subject." 


106  THE    WANDERER. 

Gerald  now  entered  the  room,  and  the  vicar,  addressing  him, 
said  : —  „ 

"  So  Gerald,  your  uncle  tells  me  you  want  to  be  doing  some 
thing  for  yourself,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes  sir,"  replied  the  boy.  "  If  I  were  in  America,  I  know 
I  should  find  plenty  to  do,  young  as  I  am." 

"  You  are  an  American  by  birth,  I  believe  1"  said  the  vicar. 

"  Yes  sir,"  answered  the  boy,  proudly,  "  I  am  a  citizen  of 
the  United  States  ;  leastwise,  I  shall  be  when  I'm  twenty-one. 
I  shall  go  to  America  then." 

The  clergyman  smiled.  {i  You  show,  at  all  events,  that  you 
have  within  you  something  of  the  independence  of  spirit  that 
I  have  heard  attributed  to  your  countrymen,"  he  said.  "  Your 
father  died  in  America  ;  did  he  not  ?" 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  Yes,  poor  fellow  !"  interposed  Mr.  Ashley,  "  he  did  not 
find  there  the  El  Dorado  he  had  pictured  before  he  left  Eng 
land." 

"  I  know  the  reason  of  that,"  said  the  boy  ;  "  I  have  heard 
my  mother  speak  of  it.  But  I  should  act  differently.  My 
father  was  not  educated  as  I  have  been." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Gerald,"  answered  Mr.  Ashley. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is,"  said  the  vicar ;  "  but  tell  me 
Gerald,  what  would  you  do  if  you  had  your  own  way  ?" 

"  Anything  that  is  honest,  that  would  enable  me  to  earn  my 
own  living  and  assist  my  mother,  sir." 

"  Bravely  answered,  my  good  boy.  Always  adhere  to  that 
resolve — '  Anything  that  is  honest.'  But  what  business  or  pro 
fession  would  you  prefer?" 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  sea,  very  well ;  but  better  still  to 
travel  in  foreign  countries  ;  to  go  all  over  the  world,"  replied 
Gerald. 

"  Rather  an  ambitious  desire,  my  boy,"  said  the  clergyman, 
smiling  at  the  reply ;  "  but  what  does  your  mother  think  is  best 
adapted  for  you  T' 


A    BOY'S    ANXIETY.  107 

"  She  would  like  me  to  learn  to  be  an  engraver,  if  she  had 
money  enough  to  apprentice  me,"  said  the  boy.  "  I  should 
like  that  pretty  well  myself,  for  I  like  drawing." 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  employed  at  a  picture-dealer's,  in 
London  ?" 

"  Oh  !  very  much  !     I  should  so  like  to  go  to  London,  sir." 

"  And  your  mother,  would  she  be  willing  to  let  you  go  to 
London  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  I  am  sure  she  would,  if  she  had  means  to  send 
me  there." 

"  Well,  then,  when  you  go  home  to  night,  tell  her  that  I  will 
call  in  to  see  her  to-morrow,  and  we'll  talk  the  matter  over. 
I  have  a  friend  in  London,  a  picture-dealer,  who,  I  think,  would 
take  you  into  his  employ  upon  my  recommendation.  And  as 
to  the  means  of  getting  there,  we'll  try  and  manage  that." 

Gerald  thanked  the  clergyman,  and  soon  afterwards  his  un 
cle  and  he  wished  him  good-night,  and  quitted  the  vicarage.  Mr. 
Ashley  returned  home  to  his  family,  building  chateaux  en  Es- 
pagne,  to  which  he  was  too  much  addicted,  and  already  having 
succeeded,  in  imagination,  in  the  realization  of  his  hopes  ;  while 
Gerald  was  overjoyed  at  the  prospect  of  getting  a  situation,  and 
of  going  to  London. 

On  the  following  morning  Mr.  Pearce  called  upon  the  widow 
— who  had  already  been  informed  by  her  son  of  the  topic  of 
conversation  between  him  and  the  vicar  the  previous  evening, 
and  although  she  was  sorrowful  at  the  thought  of  separation 
from  her  boy,  as  is  natural  to  all  mothers,  she  was  grateful  to 
the  worthy  clergyman  for  the  interest  he  had  taken  in  her  be 
half.  Mr.  Pearce  had  brought  Doctor  Knight  with  him,  and 
after  it  had  been  settled  that  Gerald  should  go  to  London,  he 
said  : 

"  And  now,  Gerald,  I  promised  you  a  Christmas  box,  which 
I  have  not  yet  given  you.  Here  are  two  sovereigns ;  they 
will  pay  your  fare  to  London,  and  leave  you  some  pocket 
money  besides.  I  only  hope  that  you  will  make  a  proper  use 


108  THE  WANDERER. 

of  it,  and  that  you  will  strive  to  give  satisfaction  to  your  em 
ployer." 

"  And  I  will  add  another  sovereign,"  said  the  doctor,  pre 
senting  the  boy  with  the  coin. 

Gerald  proudly  pocketed  the  coins  and  returned  his  thanks 
to  the  donor,  while  the  widow  was  profuse  in  her  expressions 
of  gratitude. 

"  Now,"  said  the  vicar,  "  your  uncle,  Mr.  Ashley,  intends  to 
visit  London  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight.  Do  you  think  you 
can  get  ready  in  time  to  accompany  him  1  Let  us  hear  what 
your  mother  says." 

Mrs.  Dalton  thought  she  could  make  all  necessary  prepara 
tions  by  the  time  specified,  and  expressed  herself  to  that  effect, 
and  shortly  afterwards  the  two  gentlemen  took  leave. 

It  was  a  pretty  hard  task  for  the  widow  to  prepare  for  her 
son's  approaching  departure,  for  though  it  had  been  her  plea 
sure  and  her  pride,  restricted  as  were  her  means,  to  clothe 
him  respectably  at  all  times,  he  necessarily  required  many  new 
garments,  which  her  funds  were  little  able  to  supply.  Never 
theless,  by  dint  of  economizing  and  setting  aside  for  the  time 
being  the  anticipated  purchase  of  various  articles  she  had  in 
tended  to  have  procured  for  herself,  and  aided  by  Alice  Thorn 
ton,  in  carefully  repairing  and  altering  old  garments,  she  man 
aged  to  make  up  for  her  boy  a  respectable  wardrobe,  or  at 
least  to  provide  him  with  sufficient  clothing  to  serve  him  for 
some  months.  Perhaps  it  was  well  that  her  time  was  fully 
occupied  in  this  employment.  Had  she  been  idle,  she  might 
have  felt  more  deeply  her  son's  approaching  departure.  Thus 
it  is  that  what  we  consider  our  misfortune  often  proves  our 
greatest  blessing.  And  as  to  Gerald,  like  most  boys  of  his  age 
about  to  leave  home  for  the  first  time,  his  mind  was  too  much 
occupied  with  hopeful  anticipations  of  the  future,  to  allow  of  its 
lodging  much  regret  for  the  present,  much  as  he  was  attached  to 
his  mother. 

The  day  previous  to  that  on  which  he  was  to  leave  home,  he 
again  met  Jemmy  Milton  on  the  beach.  Gerald  and  Alice  had 


GOOD   ADVICE.  109 

walked  out  together,  leaving  Mrs.  Dalton  to  pack  up  her  son's 
clothing.  The  widow  had  desired  them  so  to  do.  She 
wished  to  be  for  a  few  hours,  on  this  last  day,  alone  with  her 
own  thoughts,  to  collect  her  mind,  and  to  think  over  a  thousand 
things  that  she  wished  to  speak  of  when  she  and  Gerald  should 
be  alone  that  last  evening  at  home — and  perhaps  to  pray  that 
her  fatherless  boy  might  be  protected  and  guided,  now  that  he 
was  going  forth  into  the  world,  by  Him  who  has  promised  to 
be  a  father  to  the  orphan,  and  a  husband  to  the  widow. 

Gerald  and  Alice  were  in  serious  conversation  when  they 
saw  the  old  fisherman.  It  was  the  first  time  that  they,  young 
children  as  they  were,  had  held  serious  conversation  together. 

The  old  man  came  out  of  his  favorite  retreat,  the  boat-house, 
to  meet  them. 

"Ah,  Master  Gerald,"  he  said,  "What's  this  I  hear?  So 
you  are  going  away  to  Lunnun  ?" 

"  Yes,  Jemmy,"  replied  the  boy,  "  I  was  coming  with  Alice, 
here,  to  tell  you.  I  did'nt  know  that  you  were  aware  of  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  old  Jemmy  hears  everything 
that's  going  on;  but  what  be  going  to  do  in  Lunnun,  Master 
Gerald  1  It's  an  awful  place  for  a  youngster  to  drift  into." 

"  I  hardly  know  myself,"  replied  Gerald.  "  I  am  going  to  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Pearce's,  who  has  promised,  through  his  recom 
mendation,  to  take  me  in  his  employ.  He  is  a  picture-dealer, 
or  something  of  that  sort,  I  believe." 

"  Ha !  a  picture-dealer.  Well,  no  doubt  if  so  be  as  Mr. 
Pearce  got  you  the  berth,  it's  all  right ;  though  for  the  matter 
o'  that,  I've  heered  as  pain  tin's  a  mighty  onsartain  trade  ;  but 
you  allers  had  a  notion  of  paintin',  I  will  say  that.  Do  you 
recollect  the  beautiful  pictur'  of  the  Herrington  hoy — agoin' 
spankin'  down  channel — colored,  too,  like  natur." 

"  Yes,"  said  Alice,  laughing,  "  he  showed  me  that  picture  ; 
the  hull  was  of  a  sky  blue  color,  and  the  sails  yellow,  and  braced 
different  ways,  while  the  position  of  the  red  vane  showed  that 
she  was  sailing  with  a  square  foresail,  right  against  the  wind." 


110  THE    WANDERER. 

"  For  all  thaf/  it  was  a  real  handsome  pictur',"  said  the  old 
man,  "  and  I've  got  it  at  home  pasted  up  over  the  chimbly- 
piece  ever  since.  Master  Gerald  explained  as  how  it  was  done 
in  perspective,  as  he  called  it,  and  that  was  how  the  cutter  came 
to  be  sailin'  agin  the  wind." 

"  Never  mind  my  picture,"  said  Gerald,  laughing,  yet  seem 
ingly  a  trifle  annoyed  at  Alice's  criticism,  "  and  as  to  my  talent 
for  painting,  I  don't  suppose  it  would  be  called  into  request  at 
a  picture-dealers,  even  if  I  possessed  any  talent  of  that  kind." 

"Well,  come  and  sit  down,  both  of  ye,  in  the  old  boat- 
house,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Mayhap  it  will  be  a  long  time  be 
fore  we  meet  here  again ;  but  I  shall  think  of  you  often,  and, 
haply,  you  won't  forget  Jemmy  Milton  1" 

"  1  hope  not,"  said  Gerald.  "  You  and  I  have  always  been 
good  friends.  As  soon  as  I  get  any  money  I  shall  send  you 
something  from  London  to  remember  me  by." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  that,  Master  Gerald,"  said 
the  old  fisherman,  "  but  think  of  your  mother,  boy,  and  send 
her  all  the  money  you  can  spare;  that  will  be  the  best  way  for 
you  to  get  rid  on  it.  Miss  Alice  won't  forget  you,  nuther,  I 
warrant — will  you,  Miss  ?" 

Alice  did  not  reply  ;  she  looked  serious  and  thoughtful ;  the 
arch  merriment  which  had  led  her  to  criticise  Gerald's  vaunted 
picture  of  the  cutter,  had  vanished,  and  she  was  evidently 
grieved  at  the  idea  of  parting  from  him. 

They  were  now  seated  on  the  bench  in  the  boat-house,  and 
Jemmy  had  lighted  his  pipe,  after  having  taken  a  drink  from  a 
mug  of  beer  which  stood  on  a  rude  table  near  him. 

"  Lunnun's  a  wonderful  place,"  said  he,  after  having  smoked 
for  a  short  time  in  silence.  "  I  have  been  there  myself,  though  I 
didn't  go  much  into  the  city  'cept  over  to  St.  Paul's,  and  once 
to  the  moniment.  I  spent  most  of  my  time  there  in  Rad- 
cliffe  Highway  and  Wapping.  There's  heaps  of  bad  company 
and  curious  company  in  Lunnun,  boy — heaps  on  'em.  You'll 
be  tempted  to  drink.  Take  an  old  man's  advice,  and  don't  give 


MARVELOUS    ADVENTURES.  HI 

way  to  drink,"  and  the  old  man  took  another  swig  at  the  beer 
as  he  spoke.  "  Drink  is  the  ruin  of  half  the  young  men,"  he 
continued  ;  "  don't  get  the  taste  of  it,  boy.  I  once  fell  into  a 
pot  o'  beer,  and  I  took  to  drink  arterwards,  and  never  did  no 
good  for  myself." 

"  You  once  fell  into  a  pot  of  beer !"  cried  Gerald,  as  he  and 
Alice  looked  at  the  old  man  with  astonishment.  Gerald  was 
used  to  Jemmy's  marvellous  stories,  but  this  assertion  eclipsed 
all  he  had  heard. 

"  Aye,  but  I  wasn't  so  stout  at  that  time  as  I  am  now,"  said 
the  old  man,  thoughtfully. 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Gerald,  laughing,  as  he  scanned 
the  burly  proportions  of  the  old  fisherman.  "You  would 
have  some  trouble  to  get  into  a  beer  barrel  now." 

"  For  all  that,  boy,  laugh  as  you  may,  I  once  fell  headfore 
most  into  a  pot  o'  beer,  and  this  is  how  it  came  about.  D'ye 
see,  I  was  then  a  youngster  much  about  your  age.  It  was  my 
third  v'yage  to  sea.  We  were  bound  from  Liverpool  to  Aus- 
traly,  and  the  ship  was  a  crossing  the  Indian  Ocean,  when  thick 
weather  came  on,  and  the  skipper  couldn't  take  an  observation 
of  the  sun  for  a  whole  week.  We  had  lost  our  reckoning  and 
didn't  know  where  we  were  adriftin'  to.  By-and-by  it  came  on 
to  blow  great  guns — the  hardest  gale  ever  I  see,  and  I  have  seen 
and  weathered  many  on  'em.  For  three  days  we  tossed  about, 
losing  all  our  sails  and  springing  all  our  spars,  every  moment 
expectin'  to  go  down  to  Davy  Jones'  locker.  The  bulwarks 
were  gone  and  so  were  the  boats,  and  every-thing  that  the  sea 
could  sweep  from  the  decks,  and  still  there  seemed  no  sign  of 
the  gale's  abatin'.  At  last  there  came  a  lull,  and  then  suddenly 
the  wind  chopped  round  and  blowed  ten  times  harder  than  ever 
from  the  opposite  quarter.  The  ship  came  up  in  the  wind, 
broached  to  and  careened  over  on  her  beam  ends.  The  skipper 
shouted  to  cut  away  the  masts  ;  but  he'd  hardly  got  the  words 
out  of  his  mouth  when  a  terrible  sea  burst  over  the  deck  and 
swept  every  living  being  from  the  wreck.  Down,  down,  I 


112  THE    WANDERER. 

went,  fathoms  deep  into  the  dark  water.  I  soon  lost  all  con 
sciousness,  for  I  don't  recollect  rising  to  the  surface,  but  when 
I  came  to  I  found  myself  floating  on  a  spare  mizzen  topmast 
spar,  to  which  I  was  clinging  might  and  main.  Nothing  of  the 
wreck  was  to  be  seen,  'cept  here  and  there  a  broken  spar  toss 
ing  madly  up  and  down  upon  the  water.  The  gale,  howsom- 
ever,  had  spent  itself,  and  the  wind  begun  to  grow  less  violent, 
though  the  sea  was  still  so  rough  that  I  had  enough  to  do  to 
hold  on  to  the  spar.  Night  came  on,  and  with  it  no  hope  of 
relief.  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost,  but  all  that  long,  dreary 
night  I  clung  like  grim  death  to  the  spar.  At  last  daylight 
came.  It  was  nearly  calm,  and  the  sea  was  much  smoother.  I 
looked  around  in  hopes  of  seeing  some  of  my  shipmates  ;  but 
nothing,  now,  not  even  a  piece  of  wreck  wras  to  be  seen.  I 
strained  my  eyes  into  the  horizon  in  hopes  of  seeing  land,  and 
at  last  I  thought  I  did  see  a  speck  in  the  distance,  which  might 
be  land,  or  might  be  only  a  cloud.  I  fixed  my  gaze  upon  it,  and 
as  the  sun  rose  higher  in  the  horizon,  I  discovered,  to  my  great 
joy,  that  it  was  land,  and  in  another  hour  I  found  that  I  was 
slowly  drifting  towards  it.  By  noon  I  had  got  so  close  to  it 
that  I  could  distinguish  the  outline  of  the  shore  and  of  the  di 
vision  in  the  mountain  range  that  formed  the  back-ground.  The 
current  now  begun  to  set  in  rapidly,  and  1  drifted  nearer  at  the 
rate  of  three  knots  an  hour,  at  least,  and  by  night- fall  the  spar 
to  which  I  was  clinging  drifted  on  shore.  I  was  so  weak  that  I 
could  scarcely  disengage  myself  from  it,  and  I  was  sorely  bruised 
as  it  jerked  me  to  and  fro  on  the  beach  ;  but  at  last  I  got  clear, 
and  crawled  up  high  beyond  the  beach,  and  took  shelter  under  a 
strange  tree,  which  was  for  all  the  world  like  a  weed,,  with  its 
green  stem  and  its  broad  leaf  on  the  top  ;  but  it  was  full 
twenty  feet  high,  and  the  leaf  lopped  down  almost  to  the  ground, 
and  made  a  very  comfortable  shade.  I  was  wet  and  hungry, 
but  withal  so  fatigued  that  I  soon  fell  asleep.  When  I  woke, 
the  sun  was  again  high  in  the  heavens,  my  clothes  had  dried 
upon  me,  and  the  warmth  of  the  sun  was  very  agreeable 


MARVELOUS  AD VENTURES.       H3 

but  my  limbs  were  so  stiff  that  I  could  hardly  move.  I 
made  shift,  however,  to  crawl  about  and  look  for  something  to 
eat.  For  a  long  time  I  was  unsuccessful,  though  as  my  limbs 
grew  less  stiff  from  exercise,  I  must  have  wandered  several 
miles  into  the  country.  What  amazed  me  was  to  see  how  big 
the  trees  were — a  thousand  times  as  tall  as  that  which  I  had 
slept  under  during  the  night,  which  was  only  a  mere  plant  in 
comparison.  They  were  so  lofty  that  I  could  scarcely  distin 
guish  the  uppermost  branches.  I  saw  a  lot  of  large  round 
bodies  lying  about  under  one  of  those  monstrous  trees,  of  the 
shape  and  color  of  nuts,  but  big  enough  to  lodge  half  a  dozen 
men  inside.  Presently  a  monstrous  animal,  shaped  like  a 
squirrel,  came  bounding  past  me  with  one  of  these  large  round 
things  in  his  mouth.  He  saw  me,  and  seemed  to  be  frightened 
of  me,  little  as  I  was  compared  with  him,  for  he  dropped  the 
thing  he  had  in  his  mouth,  and  scrambled  up  one  of  the  mon 
strous  trees.  I  was  so  desperately  hungry  that  I  dared  risk 
anything,  and  I  walked  up  and  examined  the  thing  he  had  let 
fall  from  his  mouth.  Sure  enough  it  was  a  nut  which  he  had 
cracked,  and  there  was  meat  enough  inside  to  serve  a  dozen 
men  for  a  week.  I  soon  eat  a  hole  in  it  big  enough  to  effect  a 
lodging,  and  there  1  staid  for  a  week,  making  the  nut-shell  serve 
me  for  my  lodging,  while  the  kernel  supplied  me  with  food. 
Water  I  had  in  plenty,  for  several  large  rivers,  as  I  thought, 
flowed  in  every  direction  around  me.  I  afterwards  learnt  that 
they  were  streamlets,  created  by  the  drops  of  water  which 
trickled  from  some  rocks  near  by. 

"  One  day,  while  I  was  still  lost  in  amazement  at  all  I  saw  in 
this  strange  country,  I  saw  a  great  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  man, 
but  as  big  as  a  mountain,  coming  towards  me.  I  was  fright 
ened,  and  crept  into  my  nut-shell,  which  by  this  time  was  get 
ting  pretty  hollow,  for  1  had  consumed  the  greater  portion  of 
the  meat.  On  he  came,  however,  so  close  that  I  feared  his  next 
step  would  crush  the  nut-shell  and  me  with  it  into  atoms. 

"  I  made  a  desperate  spring  to  avoid  the  threatened  danger, 


114  THE    WANDERER. 

and  'lighted  on  his  foot,  from  which  I  crawled  up  to  his  stock 
ing.  He  wore  knee  breeches,  and  I  clung  easily  to  the  stock 
ings,  which  were  made  of  stuff  like  worsted,  but  as  coarse  as 
a  cable,  and  the  strands  as  far  apart  as  the  ratlins  of  a  ship's 
rigging.  I  was  afraid  of  being  shook  off  as  he  walked,  so  I 
crawled  and  crawled  up  until  I  got  hold  of  the  tail  of  his  coat 
and  at  last  I  slid  down  into  one  of  his  pockets,  where  I  lay 
pretty  comfortable,  but  dreadfully  frightened.  Away  he  walked 
with  me,  making  tremendous  stride  at  every  step  till  I  could 
hear  him  talking  in  a  voice  like  thunder  to  some  other  person 
who  was  speaking  quite  as  loud.  I  guessed  by  this  that  he 
had  got  home,  and  think's  I  to  myself — ''Jemmy  Milton,  my 
lad,  you've  got  into  a  fix.  S'pose  this  here  mountain  should 
take  it  into  his  head  to  sit  down.  He'd  squash  you  like  a 
pumpkin.  So  I  crawls  up  out  of  the  pocket,  mounts  up  his 
back  to  his  shoulder,  and  without  his  observing  me,  slides  down 
his  arm  and  hides  myself  in  the  big  cuff  of  his  sleeve.  By  and 
by  he  calls  for  a  pot  of  beer " 

"  Did  he  speak  English,  Jemmy  ?"  said  Gerald. 

"  To  be  sure  he  did,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  What  other 
lingo  would  you  have  him  speak  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gerald,  "  only  I  thought  it  odd  that 
English  should  be  spoken  so  far  away  from  England." 

"  Don't  they  speak  English  in  Ameriky,  where  you  were 
born?"  said  Jemmy.  "Everybody  speaks  English  but  Injun 
savages,  and  them  outlandish  Frenchmen  ;  and  they'd  speak 
English  if  they  could,  but  they  ain't  got  savey  enough." 

"  Go  on  with  your  story,  Mr.  Milton,"  said  Alice,  "  never 
mind  Gerald." 

"I  will,  Miss,  but  Master  Gerald,  you  mustn't  interrupt 
me  again  with  sich  silly  questions.  As  I  was  a  say  in'  he  roars 
out  for  a  pot  o'  beer,  and  it  \vas  set  on  the  table  afore  him. 
He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  take  hold  of  it  to  take  a  drink 
and  jerks  me  right  out  of  his  sleeve  and  I  falls  plump,  head 
foremost  right  into  the  pot. 


MARVELOUS    ADVENTURES.  115 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  made  a  splutter.  I'd  narrowly  escaped 
being  drowned  in  salt  water,  and  I  didn't  fancy  being  drowned 
and  suffocated  besides  in  a  pot  o'  beer. 

"  He  heard  me  a  struggling  and  splashing  and  down  he  puts 
the  pot  and  raps  out  a  big  oath,  crying  out  what  on  earth's  this 
here  in  the  beer — a  pesky  cockroach,  I  do  believe.  Sally, 
says  he,  you've  left  the  bung  out  of  the  barrel. 

"  No  I  ain  t,  father,"  says  another  voice,  not  quite  so  loud  as 
the  old  man's,  and  a  mighty  deal  softer  and  puttier,  and  when 
I  heard  it  I  know'd  as  it  was  Sally  as  spoke,  and  that  Sally 
was  the  old  chap's  daughter. 

"  He  puts  his  finger  into  the  beer,  and  draws  me  out,  and 
when  he  and  Sally  seed  what  I  was,  my  eyes !  you  should 
have  heerd  the  screaches  of  surprise  they  give. 

"  Why,  I  declare,  it's  a  little  man,  father  !"  says  she. 

"  By  George,  so  it  is,"  says  the  old  man.  "  Where  in  the 
world  can  he  have  come  from  ?" 

"  I  came  from  England,"  says  I,  shaking  myself  and  splut 
tering,  for  I  was  half  choked  with  the  beer. 

"  And  where  th 's  England  ?"  says   the  old   man, 

swearing  an  oath  which  I  won't  repeat. 

"  Yes,  where's  England,"  says  the  girl,  "  I  never  heerd  tell 
of  it  in  my  jography."  So  I  up  and  told  'em  where  England 
was,  and  how  1  had  got  shipwrecked  and  had  drifted  ashore  on 
a  log,  and  lived  a  week  in  a  nutshell,  and  the  old  man  told 
Sally  to  call  her  mother,  and  then  I  had  to  tell  my  story  over 
again,  and  then  strangers  came  in  and  I  told  it  again  and  again 
ever  so  many  times,  and  they  wanted  to  know  all  about  the 
countries  where  the  little  people  lived,  and  I  told  them  all  I 
knew ;  but  they  didn't  believe  me,  I  know.  They  said  as  I 
was  a  lusus  natural,  or  summat  like  that,  but  I  wouldn't  deny 
my  country  and  I  stuck  to  it  that  I  wras  an  Englishman.  Well 
I  lived  there  a  year  or  more  and  saw  many  strange  sights,  and 
might  have  lived  there  till  now ;  but  I  had  built  me  a  little 
boat,  just  big  enough  for  me  to  manage  cleverly.  And  I  used 


116  THE    WANDERER. 

to  go  out  to  sea  in  it  for  my  own  amusement,  and  one  day 
when  I  was  out  fishing  for  shrimps,  which  were  about  as  big 
as  a  large  salmon,  a  gale  of  wind  came  on,  and  I  was  blown  off 
the  shore,  and  should  have  starved  to  death,  but  two  days  after 
wards  a  ship  hove  in  sight,  and  they  saw  my  signal  and  bore 
down  to  me  and  took  me  aboard.  I  told  them  all  about  the 
strange  country  I  had  lived  in,  and  the  big  men  and  women,  but 
they  wouldn't  believe  me.  Howsomever  /couldn't  help  that,  and 
I  didn't  care.  The  ship  was  homeward  bound  from  China,  and 
I  came  to  England  on  board  of  her,  and  landed  at  Bristol.  I 
never  met  with  any  body  since  as  had  been  in  that  country, 
but  I  once  read  of  a  skipper  named  Gulliver,  or  some  sich 
name,  who  had  been  cast  away  on  an  island  where  the  people 
was  monstrous  big,  and  I  ain't  got  no  doubt  as  it  was  the  same 
place." 

"  Have  you  no  idea  whereabouts  in  the  world  that  country 
lies,"  said  Alice. 

"  No,  Miss,  not  in  the  least.  We  was  shipwrecked  in  the 
Injun  Seas,  but  the  ship  had  been  blown  leagues  out  of  the 
regular  track  of  navigation." 

"  1  never  read  of  such  a  country  in  geography,  nor  heard  of 
its  being  laid  down  in  any  chart,"  said  Alice,  demurely,  pre 
tending  to  believe  the  old  man's  yarn. 

"  Nor  I,  Miss,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  jographys  aint  always  to 
be  trusted  to,  and  charts  is  very  imperfect;  but  I  got  a  liking 
for  beer  through  that  accident,  and  what  I  wants  to  pint  out 
is,  that  it's  dangerous  to  take  the  first  taste  of  strong  drink  ; 
you  mayn't  like  it  at  first  no  more  nor  I  did  when  I  fell  into 
the  pot  of  beer,  but  you  gets  into  the  habit  of  drinking  it,  and 
it  sticks  to  you  through  life  :  there's  the  moral  of  my  story." 

"  Well,"  said  Gerald,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  enlightened  me 
in  regard  to  that,  for  I  should  never  have  discovered  otherwise 
that  your  yarn  had  a  moral." 

"  It  has,  and  a  right  good  one  too,"  said  the  old  fisherman  ; 
and  then  he  added  abruptly  :  "  When  do  you  go  up  to  Lunnun, 
Master  Gerald  1" 


DEPARTURE    FROM    HOME.  117 

"  To-morrow,  Jemmy,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What,  so  soon  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  that  reminds  me  that  Alice  and  T  must  be  going 
home.  So  I  shall  wish  you  good-bye,  Jemmy.  I  shall  write 
to  Alice,  and  she  will  sometimes  read  part  of  the  letters  to 
you.  You  will  see  that  I  shall  not  forget  you." 

"Are  you  a  going  to  take  a  cat  with  you  to  Lunnun  V 
asked  the  old  man. 

"A  cat!  for  what1?"  said  Gerald. 

"Because  I  read  once  in  a  history  that  a  poor  boy  went 
to  Lunnun,  and  all  the  wealth  he  had  was  a  cat,  and  he  came 
to  be  rich  through  that  cat,  and  to  be  thrice  Lord  Mayor  of 
Lunnun." 

"  Whittington,  you  mean,"  said  Alice. 

"Aye,  Whittington ;  that  was  the  name.    He  heard  Bow  Bells 

say  : — 

"Turn  agin  Whittington, 
Thrice  Lord  Mayor  of  Lunnun." 

"  You  take  my  advice,  Master  Gerald,  and  when  you  hear  them 
ere  Bow  bells,  you  say,  'Turn  agin  Whittington,  thrice  Lord 
Mayor  of  Lunnun.'  Mayhap  then  you  will  come  to  be  Lord 
Mayor  yourself — same  as  Whittington  did." 

"  I  hope  such  good  luck  will  befall  me,"  said  Gerald,  laugh 
ing,  "but  I  fear  not.  However,  Jemmy,  I  shall  recollect 
your  advice." 

"  Do,  boy,  do,"  said  the  old  man  as  he  shook  the  youth's 
hand.  "  You  start  by  the  coach  to-morrow,  you  say  ?  I  shall 
be  at  the  coach-office  to  see  you  off.  Good-bye,  and  God  bless 
you." 

Alice  and  Gerald  walked  slowly  homewards,  talking  earn 
estly  together.  Now  for  the  first  time  they  felt  the  full  force 
of  the  attachment  they  bore  each  other,  now  when  they  were 
about  to  part  for  a  long  time — perhaps  forever.  So  it  is 
with  us  all.  We  seldom  feel  the  real  value  of  a  friend,  even 
the  full  strength  of  the  love  we  bear  to  those  closer  and  dearer 


118  THE    WANDERER. 

than  mere  friends,  till  fortune  bids  us  part  from  them.  They 
exacted  many  promises  from  each  other,  and  agreed  to  write 
by  every  opportunity ;  but  in  those  days  postage  was  expen 
sive — far  beyond  their  means  to  pay — and  they  could  not 
hope  that  their  correspondence  would  be  very  frequent. 

That  last  evening  at  home,  Gerald  spent  in  private  with  his 
mother ;  even  Alice  was  not  permitted  to  intrude  upon  that 
privacy.  Nor  will  I  attempt  to  penetrate  into  it.  A  mother's 
parting  with  an  only  son,  and  that  mother  a  widow,  is  of  too 
sacred  a  nature  to  be  rashly  intruded  upon  or  lightly  spoken 
of.  It  was  late — very  late,  far  beyond  Mrs.  Dalton's  usual 
hour  of  retiring  to  rest,  when  she  and  Gerald  retired  to  their 
own  rooms  that  night. 

The  family  was  up  betimes  in  the  morning,  for  the  coach 
started  at  nine  o'clock,  and  Mr.  Ashley  was  to  call  for  his 
nephew  at  eight  o'clock.  They  were  seated  at  the  breakfast 
table  when  he  came ;  but  little  had  been  partaken  of  by  any 
one ;  Mrs.  Dalton  and  Alice,  and  even  Gerald  himself,  were 
each  and  all  too  low-spirited  to  eat  much  that  morning. 

Mr.  Ashley  was  invited  to  join  them  at  the  table,  but  he 
said  that  he  had  breakfasted  with  his  family  before  leaving 
Sandgate,  and  as  they  had  some  distance  to  walk  to  the  coach- 
office,  it  was  time  they  were  starting. 

Gerald  was  quite  ready,  and  his  mother  and  Alice  said  they 
would  accompany  him  to  the  office. 

The  coach  was  nearly  ready  to  start  when  they  arrived.  It 
was  as  well.  It  is  always  better  to  allow  of  short  time  for 
leave-taking.  Jemmy  Milton  wras  waiting  also  to  bid  his 
young  friend  farewell  and  see  him  off.  He  held  a  small  parcel 
in  his  hand,  and  as  they  approached,  he  came  forward  to  meet 
them. 

u  Good  morning,  Ma'am,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Dalton.  "  So 
Master  Gerald's  off  to  Lunnun  to  seek  his  fortune  ;  well,  let's 
hope  it'll  be  a  happy  one ;  nothing  like  hoping,  Ma'am  ;  the 
man  as  tries  and  hopes,  and  if  he  fails,  tries  and  hopes  agin, 


DEPARTURE    FROM    HOME.  H9 

is  the  man  to  get  forard  in  the  world,  whether  by  sea  or  land ; 
and  Master  Gerald's  one  of  that  sort,  or  I'm  much  mistaken. 
I've  brought  a  trifling  gift  for  you,  Gerald,  lad.  It  aint  much, 
but  something  as  may  be  useful  and  sarve  to  make  you  re 
member  the  old  man  by.  Arter  you  was  gone,  yesterday, 
from  the  old  boat-house — you'll  remember  the  old  boat-house, 
Master  Gerald — I  casts  about  to  think  what  I  could  give  you 
for  a  keepsake,  and  at  last,  arter  thinking  first  of  one  thing  and 
then  of  another,  I  hits  upon  a  ditty  bag ;  here  it  be ;  it's  one 
as  1  used  to  keep  for  extraordinary  occasions  when  I  followed 
the  sea.  Thinks  I,  that  there  ditty  bag's  jist  the  thing  for  Mas 
ter  Gerald,  now  he's  a  going  away  from  home  ;  if  it  aint  orna 
mental,  it's  useful.  See  here  ;  it's  well  stocked  with  sail  needles 
arid  tarred  twine,  and  a  palm  and  every  thing  useful ;  and  be 
sides  them,  I've  put  in  a  marling-spike  and  a  fid,  as  I  made 
myself  out  of  a  bit  of  fancy  wood  I  picked  up  while  on  a  voy 
age  to  the  South  Seas.  When  you  set  to  work  to  use  this  here 
ditty  bag,  Gerald  my  boy,  you'll  think  of  the  old  sailor  now 
laid  up  in  ordinary  like  the  old  commodore  as  the  song  says  : 

"  The  bullet  and  the  gout 
Had  so  knocked  his  hull  about, 
That  he  never  more  was  fit  for  sea." 

Gerald  thanked  the  honest  old  man,  and  received  the  to  him 
useless  gift,  but  it  was  all  Jemmy  possessed  to  show  his  good 
will. 

And  now  the  coachmgn  came  out  of  the  hotel,  the  guard  re 
quested  the  passengers  to  take  iheir  seats,  and  he  and  the 
coachman  mounted  to  their  places.  There  were  hurried  words, 
and  earnest  looks  of  affection,  and  tearful  eyes.  The  guard 
shouted,  "All  right."  The  coachman  smacked  his  whip,  and 
the  well  groomed,  impatient  horses  sprang  forward  eagerly, 
glad  to  find  themselves  in  motion.  The  coach  rattled  over  the 
pebbled  street,  and  the  passers  by  looked  up  with  admiration 
as  it  dashed  proudly  along,  while  from  the  uplifted  windows 


120  THE    WANDERER. 

of  many  a  house,  salutations  and  smiles  were  interchanged  be 
tween  the  smart  servant  maids  and  the  coachman  and  guards, 
and  soon  the  rumbling  of  the  wheels  and  the  sound  of  the 
horses'  hoofs  grew  more  and  more  indistinct  as  the  coach 
passed  from  the  rough  pavement  on  to  the  smooth  country 
road.  Another  minute,  and  it  was  out  of  sight,  and  the  hoofs 
of  the  prancing  steeds  and  the  rumbling  of  the  wheels  was 
heard  no  longer,  and  a  sorrowful  group  that  had  waited  in  the 
street  gazing  after  the  coach  with  straining  and  tearful  eyes  to 
the  last  moment,  turned  away,  and  departed  slowly  and  thought 
fully,  and  tearfully  homeward. 


THE    JOUKNEY    TO    LONDON.  121 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  journey  to  London,  and  what  befel  Mr.  Ashley  and  Gerald  in  the  great 
metropolis. 

MERRILY  the  coach  proceeded  on  its  way  when  the  smooth, 
level  high-road  was  gained  and  the  cobble-stones  of  dirty, 
gloomy  Herrington  were  left  behind.  Away  she  went,  borne 
onward  by  four  spanking  chestnuts,  which  seemed  to  enjoy 
equally  with  the  coachman,  the  speed  at  which  they  were 
driven.  The  high  road  for  several  miles  skirted  the  cliffs,  af 
fording  a  glorious  view  of  the  channel,  the  water  glistening  like 
molten  silver  in  the  bright  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  and  the 
numerous  vessels  that  dotted  its  surface  looking  from  the  heights 
like  toy  boats  in  a  miniature  sea.  The  guard  sounded  his 
bugle  in  a  cheerful  tune,  for  it  was  truly  inspiriting,  that  rapid 
drive,  in  the  early  morning,  and  the  coachman  whistled  an  accom 
paniment  to  the  music.  Shakespeare's  cliff  was  just  visible  in  the 
distance,  and  some  of  the  passengers,  for  the  coach  was  loaded 
outside,  discoursed  in  learned  criticism  on  the  crag,  made  im 
mortal  by  the  genius  of  the  poet,  and  before  long,  Gerald,  who 
had  felt  somewhat  low-spirited  when  Herrington  had  faded  in 
the  distance,  soon  recovered  the  cheerfulness  natural  to  boy 
hood  under  almost  any  circumstances. 

It  was  a  novelty  to  him — a  glorious  novelty — this  rapid 
travel  on  the  top  of  a  stage-coach.  Often,  .when  he  had  watched 
it  pass  him  on  the  road — this  very  stage — he  had  envied  the 
passengers  seated  on  the  roof,  and  thought  that  he  would  soon 
er  have  occupied  a  position  there  than  have  been  seated  on  a 


J22  THE    WANDERER. 

throne ;  and  the  coachman,  so  spruce  in  his  attire,  so  conscious 
of  power,  as  he  held  the  reins,  and  guided  the  movements  of 
the  spirited  steed — he  had  often  thought  a  stage-coachman's  life, 
careless,  jovial,  and  free,  must  be  the  happiest  in  the  world. 
And  now  he  was  seated  behind  the  coachman,  and  in  his  turn 
looking  with  conscious  pride  upon  the  slowly  traveling  pedes 
trians  as  they  passed  on  their  way.  Harrington  was  behind  him, 
and  he  had  parted  from  his  mother  and  from  Alice  for  the  first 
time,  perhaps  for  a  very,  very  long  time ;  but  London,  mighty 
London,  with  its  mysterious  wealth  and  grandeur,  was  before 
him,  and  the  sorrows  of  the  past  hour  were  already  forgotten 
in  the  bright  anticipations  of  the  future.  How  he  admired  the 
beautiful  scenery ;  the  stage  was  passing  so  rapidly  that  the  trees 
and  hedges  and  farm-houses  and  barns  seemed  to  be  flying  from 
them.  It  was  a  glorious  living  panorama.  Seen  and  enjoyed 
for  the  first  time,  it  was  a  pleasure  to  be  remembered  for  a 
lifetime.  Oh !  how  different  from  the  still  more  rapid,  but 
far  less  exhilarating  travel  by  rail,  in  these  more  utilitarian 
days.  We  cannot  deny  that  we  have  gained  much  by  the  pro- 
gress  of  science  and  the  inventions  of  more  modern  times,  but 
we  have  lost  not  a  little,  too. 

Willingly  would  Gerald  have  entered  into  conversation  with 
his  uncle,  who  was  seated  beside  him  on  the  front  seat  behind 
the  box,  but  Mr.  Ashley  was  in  little  mood  to  converse,  and 
short  answers  were  all  he  could  obtain  in  reply  to  his  questions. 

Mr.  Ashley  had  enough  to  think  of.  Under  happier  auspices 
he  might,  and  doubtless  would,  hruve  enjoyed  the  scenery 
through  which  he  was  passing,  although,  perhaps,  not  with  the 
fresh,  boyish  delight  of  his  nephew  ;  but  he  was  thinking  of  the 
ordeal  that  he  had  to  undergo  on  his  arrival  in  London,  and  of 
his  dreary  prospects  at  home ;  and  of  the  success  that  might 
visit  him  in  the  future,  and  of  the  awful  presence  of  the  bishop, 
before  whom  he  might  be  called  to  speak,  and  alternately  hop 
ing,  and  doubting,  and  fearing,  he  had  little  inclination  to  go 
into  extacies  over  the,  even  to  him,  unwonted  excitement  of  a 
stage-coach  ride. 


THE   JOURNEY   TO    LONDON.  123 

At  Canterbury,  the  gentleman  who  had  occupied  the  box- 
seat  beside  the  coachman,  from  Herrington,  alighted,  and  when 
the  stage  had  changed  horses  and  again  started  on  its  journey, 
the  coachman  sat  alone  in  the  post  of  honor. 

He  was  a  happy,  jovial,  kind-hearted  fellow,  as  were  all 
stage-coachmen  of  the  race  gone-by,  and  he  had  noticed  the 
bright,  intelligent  countenance  of  the  lad,  and  in  the  absence  of 
a  better  faze  he  thought  the  boy  might  as  well  occupy  the  vacant 
seat  by  his  side ;  so,  after  proceeding  a  mile  or  two,  he  leaned 
back,  and  addressing  Gerald,  said  : 

"  You  seem  lonesome,  like,  young  gentleman :  p'raps  you'd 
like  to  come,  and  sit  aside  of  me ;  if,  so,  crawl  over  and  take 
the  box  seat  and  welcome." 

Gerald  looked  at  his  uncle,  as  if  to  ask  permission,  and  ob 
serving  in  his  countenance  no  sign  of  disapproval,  he  lost  no 
time  in  accepting  the  proffered  invitation,  and  was  soon  busily 
occupied  in  conversation  with  the  coachman. 

"  And  so  you  are  going  to  London  ?"  said  this  functionary, 
after  the  youth  had  been  for  a  few  minutes  seated  by  his  side. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Gerald. 

"  For  the  first  time  1" 

"Yes,"  again. 

"  On  a  visit,  maybe  ;  have  friends  there  ?" 

"Not  exactly  on  a  visit,"  said  Gerald. 

"  On  business  then  ;  though  a  young  gentleman  like  you  can 
hardly  be  going  up  to  London  on  business.  Going  to  school, 
p'raps  T' 

"  No,"  said  Gerald,  "  I  am  not  going  to  school." 

"  To  be  sure  not.  I  might  ha'  knowed  that,"  said  the  coach 
man  ;  "  boys  don't  go  to  London  to  school.  Going  home  from 
school  ?" 

"  Nor  going  home  from  school,  neither,"  replied  Gerald,  "  I'm 
going  to  a  situation  in  London." 

"  Going  to  a  situation  in  London,  eh  1  Going  to  begin  the 
world  on  your  own  account.  Well,  I've  taken  many  young- 


124  THE    WANDERER. 

sters  up  to  London  in  my  time  who  was  going  to  begin  the 
world  on  their  own  account,  and  I've  brought  some  of  'em 
back  again  after  years  had  passed.  Some  on  'em  have  done 
well,  some  havn't.  If  it  wouldn't  be  rude,  I'd  ask  what  situa 
tion  you  was  going  to  1" 

"  1  have  no  objections  to  tell  you,"  said  Gerald.  "  I'm  go 
ing  to  a  picture-dealer's,  in  a  place  they  call  Bloomsbury,  in 
London." 

"  I  know  the  place,"  returned  the  coachman.  "  A  nice  place 
enough.  A  good  deal  of  business  done  in  Bloomsbury.  Pic- 
tur'-dealer's  I  should  think  a  very  good  trade,  too.  Gent  be 
hind,  your  father  ?" 

"  My  uncle,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Seems  down  in  the  mouth,"  observed  the  coachman,  giving 
a  cautious  glance  behind. 

"  He's  going  to  London  on  important  business,"  said  Gerald  ; 
"  that,  perhaps,  makes  him  more  thoughtful  than  usual." 

"  Where  do  you  intend  to  put  up  in  London  ?"  asked  the 
coachman. 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  say,"  said  Gerald;  "wherever  the  coach 
stops,  I  suppose." 

"  The  coach  stops  at  the  Blue  Boar,  Holborn.  Capital  inn. 
Can't  do  better  than  put  up  there,"  said  the  coachman.  "  I  al 
ways  stay  there  myself — good  grub  and  capital  ale  they  keep." 

The  conversation,  after  this  introduction  of  queries  and  re 
plies — the  coachman's  curiosity  being,  apparently,  satisfied — 
grew  more  general,  although  Gerald,  of  his  own  free  will,  re 
lated  his  history  from  his  earliest  recollections,  and  launched 
out  into  the  expression  of  several  hopeful  anticipations  for  the 
future.  And  the  coachman,  in  return  for  this  confidence, 
pointed  out  the  various  gentlemen's  seats  they  passed  on  their 
journey,  and  related  the  history  of  their  families,  in  which  he 
appeared  to  be  perfectly  well  posted. 

"So  you  was  born  in  AmerikyT'  said  he,  after  some  time. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Gerald. 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  LONDON.       125 

"  Great  country,  that,  I've  heard :  you  don't  remember, 
much  of  it,  though?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  said  Gerald,  "  I  was  eight  years  old  when 
I  left,  you  know.  I  hope  to  return  there  some  day." 

"  I've  heard  of  many  that  have  done  well  there,"  said  the 
coachman.  "  Provided  I  was  out  of  a  place  here,  I  don't  know 
that  I  shouldn't  like  to  go  America  myself.  I  do  hear  talk 
of  some  new  fangled  notions  of  doing  away  with  the  pike  roads 
and  driving  carriages  by  steam.  J  don't  believe  none  of  it, 
the  thing's  impossible;  but  if  it  should  be  the  case,  coachmen 
and  bosses  'd  be  used  up,  and  guards,  too,  for  the  matter  of 
that ;  but  I  hope  they'll  last  my  time,  at  any  rate." 

From  this  subject  the  conversation  diverged  upon  America, 
and  the  coachman  was  very  curious  in  learning  from  Gerald 
all  he  knew  or  could  recollect  having  seen  of  the  land  of  his 
birth,  and  by  the  time  they  reached  Milton,  where  they  stopped 
to  dine,  they  were  as  well  acquainted  and  as  friendly  as  if 
they  had  known  each  other  for  years. 

On  leaving  Milton,  a  passenger  paid  the  extra  fare  for  the 
box  seat,  and  Gerald,  of  course,  though  to  the  mutual  regret 
of  himself  and  his  new  friend,  was  compelled  to  resume  his 
seat  beside  his  uncle. 

It  was  but  a  journey  of  seventy -two  miles  from  Herrington 
to  London,  and  the  stage  reached  the  metropolis  at  a  tolerably 
early  hour  in  the  evening,  and  as  Gerald  had  been  informed, 
stopped  at  the  yard  of  the  Blue  Boar  Inn,  where  his  uncle  and 
he  proposed  to  stay  for  the  night,  and  after  a  comfortable  sup 
per  they  both  retired  to  rest. 

Both  lay  for  a  long  time  awake,  though  their  mutual  wake- 
fulness  was  owing  to  very  different  causes.  Mr.  Ashley  was 
nervously  anticipating  the  visit  to  Exeter  Hall  on  the  follow 
ing  day.  Gerald,  although  somewhat  curious  regarding  his 
future  employer,  and  anxious  to  know  what  duties  he  would 
be  required  to  perform,  was  mainly  occupied  in  anticipating 
the  expected  marvels  that  were  to  greet  his  vision  on  the 


126  THE    WANDERER. 

following  morning,  when  London  would  be  revealed  to  him  in 
all  its  glory.  It  was  dusk  when  the  coach  reached  the  great 
metropolis  that  evening,  and  he  had  had  but  an  indistinct 
view  of  crowds  of  people,  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and  brilliantly 
lighted  shops,  which  the  coach  had  rattled  past  so  swiftly  that 
his  curiosity  was  only  whetted  instead  of  being  gratified.  He 
thought,  too,  of  his  mother,  and  Alice,  and  wondered  whether 
they  were  thinking  of  him,  and  how  long  it  would  be  before 
he  should  see  them  again,  and  then  his  heart  became  sad,  and 
his  spirits  sunk  ;  but  these  were  but  fleeting  regrets,  and  again 
and  again,  with  all  the  buoyancy  of  youth,  his  thoughts  revert 
ed  to  the  anticipated  pleasures  of  the  morrow. 

At  length  both  he  and  his  uncle  fell  asleep,  and  slept  so 
soundly  after  the  unaccustomed  fatigues  of  the  day,  that  it  was 
a  late  hour  in  the  morning  before  either  awoke,  so  late  in  fact, 
that  Mr.  Ashley  was  obliged  to  hurry  through  his  breakfast 
in  order  to  prepare  himself  to  attend  the  meeting  at  Exeter 
Hall,  and  to  forego  the  idea  of  accompanying  his  nephew  to 
Bloomsbury  as  had  been  his  intention,  and  Gerald,  after  pack 
ing  up  a  change  of  clothing  in  a  bundle  which  he  carried  under 
his  arm  (leaving  his  trunk  at  the  hotel  to  be  sent  after  him) 
set  forth  to  search  out  his  new  home.  He  had  the  directions 
on  a  card — "  MR.  HOFFMANN,  PICTURE  DEALER,  AUCTIONEER, 
AND  GENERAL  AGENT.  BROAD  ST,  BLOOMSBURY."  He  believed 
that  he  should  have  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  place,  and  if  he 
should  meet  with  any,  he  would  only,  in  his  wanderings,  see 
more  of  London.  But  a  change  had  come  over  the  face  of  the 
city  since  a  few  hours  before,  when  on  rising  from  his  bed  he 
had  run  to  the  window  and  looked  into  the  streets.  Then,  al 
though  the  sun  was  not  shining  very  brightly,  the  morning  was 
clear  and  crowds  of  people  were  hurrying  to  and  fro  imparting 
a  cheerfulness  to  the  prospect  and  an  aspect  of  bustling  activity 
new  to  the  youth  familiar  only  with  the  dullness  of  a  small 
country  town.  Within  a  few  hours  one  of  those  dense,  yellow 
fogs,  peculiar  to  London,  had  risen  and  enshrouded  the  city  in 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  LONDON.       127 

obscurity  :  there  was  still  the  same  hurry  and  bustle,  indeed 
it  appeared  to  have  increased,  for  the  noise  of  the  carts  and 
carriages,  unseen  till  close  at  hand,  the  oaths  of  the  drivers 
as  their  vehicles,  in  spite  of  all  their  caution,  came  into  frequent 
collision,  the  lights  in  the  shops  glaring  unnaturally  through 
the  greasy  vapor,  and  the  shadowy  forms  of  the  pedestrians  as 
they  loomed  up  suddenly,  like  monstrous  spectres,  and  the 
next  moment  jostled  each  other  on  the  side  walk,  added  to  the 
seeming  confusion  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger  from  the  country, 
visiting  the  city  for  the  first  time.  Gerald  asked  a  waiter  in 
the  hotel,  which  was  the  most  direct  way  to  Broad  street,  and 
having  received  the  information  he  required,  he  started  forth 
intending  to  take  his  time  and  look  about  him  as  he  went. 
There  was,  however,  little  to  be  seen,  except  in  the  shop  win 
dows  ;  but  those  often  arrested  the  boy's  attention,  and  caused 
him  to  stop  and  admire  the  showy  goods  displayed  therein  un 
til  some  fresh  display  again  induced  him  to  stop.  By  and  by 
the  fog  lifted  a  little  and  his  attention  was  so  taken  up  with  the 
novelty  of  the  scene,  that  he  quite  forgot  the  directions  given 
him  at  the  hotel. 

"  Trudging  along,  unknowing  what  he  sought, 
And  whistling  as  he  went  for  want  of  thought," 

he  walked  on  for  at  least  a  couple  of  hours,  and  until  his  legs 
begun  to  grow  weary.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  idea  struck 
him  that  he  must  be  very  near  his  destination,  or  else  must 
have  wandered  far  out  of  his  way. 

He  spoke  to  the  first  good-natured  looking  person  he  met, 
and  asked  how  far  he  was  from  Broad  St.,  Bloomsbury. 

"  Broad  Street,  Bloomsbury,"  repeated  the  person  questioned. 
"  You  are  a  long  way  from  it,  my  boy — and  going  quite  in  the 
contrary  direction.  Where  have  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  the  Blue  Boar  Inn,  Holborn,"  said  Gerald. 

«  Why,  my  little  man,  you've  come  a  long  way  out  of  the 


128  THE    WANDERER. 

way.  This  is  St.  Martin's  Lane.  You  must  turn  back  and 
retrace  your  steps.  You're  a  stranger  to  London  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Gerald. 

"So  I  should  think,"  said  the  man.  "You  should  have 
asked  your  way  before  you  got  so  far  wrong,  rny  lad.  How- 
aver,  I'll  put  you  right,  as  well  as  I  can,"  and  he  gave  him  the 
accessary  directions,  advising  him,  however,  to  make  fresh  in 
quiries  every  now  and  then,  to  make  sure  he  was  going  the 
right  way. 

Gerald  was  beginning  to  feel  hungry,  however,  and  he 
thought  he  would  stop  at  the  first  decent  looking  public  house 
he  came  to  and  get  something  to  eat.  He  still  had  one  of  his 
sovereigns  unchanged,  and  a  few  shillings  besides,  saved  out  of 
his  coach-fare,  and  he  soon  found  a  house,  respectable  enough 
in  appearance,  yet  not  so  stylish  as  to  give  him  the  impression 
that  the  charge  would  be  beyond  his  means. 

He  walked  in,  and  stepping  up  to  the  bar,  asked  if  he  could 
have  some  bread  and  cheese. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  landlord  ;  "  in  one  minute,  sir.  Please 
to  walk  into  the  parlor.  What  shall  I  send  you  in  to  drink — 
ale  or  porter1?" 

The  boy  was  unused  to  drink  spirituous  liquors  of  any  kind, 
yet  he  felt  so  tired,  and  so  much  in  need  of  refreshment,  that 
he  thought  a  glass  of  ale  would  do  him  no  harm.  "  Fine  Bur 
ton  ale  on  draught"  was  painted  in  gory  letters  inside  the  bar. 
He  had  often  heard  of  Burton  ale,  and  thought  he  should 
like  to  taste  it;  so,  regardless  of  the  moral  of  Jemmy  Mil 
ton's  marvelous  story,  he  ordered  a  glass  of  that  generous 
liquor. 

It  was  soon  brought  to  him,  accompanied  with  a  roll  and  a 
large  slice  of  Cheshire  cheese,  and  he  quickly  set  to  work  to 
satisfy  his  appetite. 

There  were  three  or  four  gentlemanly  looking  men  in  the 
parlor  to  which  he  had  been  shown,  who  were  amusing  them 
selves  at  a  bagatelle  board,  and  after  a  short  time  one  of 


A   FOG,    AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES.          129 

them  left  his  companions  and  seated  himself  by  Gerald's  side. 
"  You  are  from  the  country,  young  gentleman  ]"  said  he,  ad 
dressing  the  boy. 

"  Yes  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  So  I  thought ;  you  have  not  the  appearance  of  a  London 
boy  ;  besides,  you  have  a  bundle  with  you.  What  part  of  the 
country  do  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  Kent,"  replied  Gerald. 

"  Ah,  from  Kent,  eh  ?  I'm  well  acquainted  with  Kent.  Do 
you  come  from  the  sea  coast  ?"  • 

"  From  Herrington,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Indeed  !  I  have  friends  there ;  perhaps  you  are  acquainted 

with  them.  Do  you  know  Mr. ,  what  is  the  name  now — 

it's  at  my  tongue's  end — Mr. 

"  I  am  acquainted  with  Mr.  Pierce,  the  vicar,  and  with  Doc 
tor  Knight,"  said  Gerald. 

"  The  very  man.  How  could  I  have  forgotten  the  name. 
Mr.  Pearce  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  so  is  Doctor  Knight. 
I  think  I  have  met  you  at  Mr.  Pearce's,  but,  for  the  life  of  me 
I  can't  recal  your  name." 

"  My  name  is  Gerald  Dalton." 

"  Gerald  Dalton  !  is  it  possible  1  How  strange  that  we 
should  have  met  here.  Why  I  know  your  father  as  well — " 

"My  father  is  dead,"  interrupted  Gerald.  "He  died  in 
America  several  years  ago.  I  have  an  uncle  who  used  to  live 
in  Herrington,  but  he  is  in  London  now." 

"To  be  sure.  How  stupid  of  me — it  is  your  uncle  I  mean. 
He  is  in  London,  is  he  1  I  should  like  to  see  him.  Martin," 
addressing  one  of  the  gentlemen  at  the  bagatelle  table,  "this 
is  a  nephew  of  our  friend  Dalton,  of  Herrington." 

"My  uncle's  name  is  Ashley,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Ashley  I  meant.  Your  name's  Dalton,  you 
see,  and  I  confound  the  two.  But  come,  your  glass  is  empty, 
I  perceive.  Take  another  glass  of  ale  with  me,  for  old  acquain 
tance  sake.  You'll  join  us,  Martin?  Waiter,  three  glasses 
of  ale  here." 


130  THE    WANDERER. 

''  I  had  rather  not  take  any  more  ale,  thank  you,"  said 
Gerald. 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  another  glass  of  ale  with  an  old  friend  won't 
hurt  you.  You  might  drink  a  gallon  of  this  ale,  and  be  none 
the  worse  for  it." 

Gerald's  long  walk  through  the  streets  of  London  had  made 
him  very  thirsty,  and  after  some  further  demur,  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  persuaded.  The  ale  was  brought  by  the  waiter, 
and  the  boy  drew  his  purse  from  his  pocket  to  pay  for  the  re 
freshment  he  had  called  for  at  the  bar,  disclosing,  as  he  did  so, 
the  sovereign  among  the  loose  silver. 

The  strangers  grew  more  friendly. 

"  The  young  gentleman  doesn't  recollect  us,  Martin,"  said 
the  one  who  had  first  addressed  Gerald.  "  Strange,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  When  wrere  you  in  Herrington1?"  asked  Gerald. 

"  When  was  it  1  Let  me  see — about  a  year  ago,  wasn't  it, 
Martin  ?  We  put  up  at  the  King's  Arms  Inn.  We  visited 
Mr.  Pearce  several  times,  and  it  was  there  I  met  you  with  your 
father — your  uncle,  I  mean." 

"  I  don't  recollect  having  been  at  Mr.  Pearce's  with  my  un 
cle  at  any  time,  at  least  until  a  few  days  before  I  left;  but  it 
may  be  so." 

"  Of  course  ;  it  must  be  so,  or  how  should  I  have  recognized 
you  as  soon  as  you  entered  the  room T' 

Had  Gerald  thought,  he  might  have  recollected  that  he  was 
not  recognized  until  he  himself  had  told  his  name ;  but  the  ale, 
a  gallon  of  which  might  be  drunk  without  any  one  feeling  the 
worse  for  it,  had  already  begun  to  affect  him ;  not  so  much, 
however,  from  its  own  natural  potency  as  from  the  effects  of  a 
certain  powder  which,  unperceived  by  him,  had  been  put  into 
his  glass  by  one  of  his  new  friends.  He  answered  at  random 
a  variety  of  questions  that  were  put  to  him  ;  related  the  cause 
of  his  visit  to  London  ;  talked  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  ;  dozed 
off,  and  awoke  with  a  start ;  again  dozed  and  awoke,  and  at  last 
fell  fast  asleep  with  his  head  on  the  table.  *  *  *  He  felt  a  rough 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  131 

hand  tugging  at  the  collar  of  his  jacket,  and  a  rude  voice  called 
out: — 

"  Come  youngster,  are  you  going  to  sleep  here  all  night  ? 
We're  going  to  shut  up.  You  must  be  jogging.  Come,"  and 
again  the  rough  hand  tugged  at  his  collar. 

He  looked  up  ;  his  head  was  aching  dreadfully,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  a  fog  before  his  eyes.  The  lamp  was  burning 
feebly,  and  shedding  a  sickly  light  over  the  room ;  but 
the  light  seemed  to  float  in  a  cloud  of  mist,  and  there  was  a 
ring  round  it  which  danced  up  and  down,  and  dazzled  the  boy's 
eyes  as  he  gazed  vacantly  at  it. 

"  Come,  are  you  going  to  get  up  ?"  repeated  the  rude  voice. 

"  Yes,  yes.     Where  am  I  f '  said  Gerald. 

"  Come,  that  won't  do  ;  that's  a  pretty  go.  Where  are  you  1 
Why,  you're  in  the  parlor  of  the  Red  Lion,  and  you've  been  a 
snorin  like  vinking  for  the  last  three  hours,  till  you've  drove 
everybody  out  o'  the  house.  Come,  jog — don't  be  a  falling 
asleep  again." 

"  What's  o'clock?"  said  Gerald.  "  Oh,  how  my  head  aches  !" 

"No  vonder  ;  you  shouldn't  get  drunk.  Vy,  it's  past  twelve 
o'clock,  and  time  you  was  home.  Come,  are  you  going  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald,  looking  vacantly  around  him.  "  Where — 
where's  my  bundle  1" 

"  How  should  I  know  f  said  the  waiter  ;  "  you  didn't  bring 
no  bundle  here  as  I  knows  on." 

"  But  I  did,"  said  the  boy,  pressing  his  hand  upon  his  heated 
forehead.  It  was  lying  here  beside  me  when  I  fell  asleep.  I've 
been  robbed." 

"  Hush  that  now  ;  hush  that,"  said  the  man  ;  "  don't  go  for 
to  say  you've  been  robbed  here.  The  Red  Lion  won't  stand 
that,  no  how.  You'd  better  pay  for  the  half  gallon  of  ale  you 
ordered." 

"  I  ordered  no  ale,  only  one  glass  that  I  paid  for,"  said  Gerald 
"  I  did  not  finish  the  second  glass  the  gentleman  called  for ;  parl 
of  it  stands  here  now," 


[32  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Well,  that's  a  pretty  how-d'ye-do,"  said  the  waiter  ;  "  first 
you've  been  robbed ;  then  you  refuses  to  pay  for  the  ale  you 
ordered.  Here,  come  out  and  talk  to  the  landlord  ;  he'll  soon 
put  you  to  rights,"  and  again  seizing  the  boy  by  the  collar  of 
his  jacket,  he  dragged  him  into  the  bar  room,  where  the  land 
lord  was  still  standing  behind  the  bar. 

"Here's  a  chap,"  said  the  waiter,  "who  says  as  he's  been 
robbed  in  this  house,  and  he  refuses  to  pay  his  bill." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  you  young  scamp  ?'"'  cried  the 
landlord.  "How  much  is  it,  Tom?" 

"  Four-and-six  for  ale,  and  two  and-six  for  sandwiches  ordered 
for  the  coves  as  left  just  now  afore  I  waked  this  chap  up — seven 
shillings  in  all." 

"  You'd  better  pay  it  afore  I  call  the  watch,"  said  the  land 
lord. 

Poor  Gerald,  dreadfully  frightened  at  this  threat,  put  his  hand 
into  his  pocket  to  find  his  purse.  It  was  gone;  everything 
that  his  pocket  had  contained  was  gone,  and  he  was  penniless. 

"My  purse  has  been  stolen,  and  the  bundle  I  had  \vith  me 
besides,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  you're  a  deep  one  !"  said  the  landlord.  "  Take  care 
what  you  say ;  don't  go  too  far,  or  I'll  have  you  arrested  for 
making  false  charges  and  injuring  the  character  of  my  house. 
Be  off  with  you  at  once.  There,  turn  him  out,  Tom,  and  lock 
the  door.  The  young  vagabond  ain't  got  no  money  to  pay  his 
score,"  and  in  spite  of  his  remonstrances,  Gerald  was  violently 
thrust  into  the  street,  and  the  door  locked  upon  him. 

The  heavy  fog  had  turned  to  rain,  and  but  for  the  oil  lamps 
the  night  would  have  been  dark  as  pitch ;  as  it  was,  they  but 
served  to  make  the  dreariness  visible.  The  streets  were  de 
serted,  except  by  a  few  benighted  pedestrians  who  hurried  pasl 
with  their  great  coats  closely  buttoned  and  the  collars  turned 
up,  and  these  hurried  by,  taking  no  heed  of  the  boy's  eager 
inquiries  how  far  it  was  to  the  Blue  Boar,  Holborn,  at  which 
hostelry  he  hoped  to  find  his  uncle,  who  he  knew  would  be 
anxiously  expecting  him. 


LONDON   EXPERIENCES.  133 

Drenched  with  rain,  and  so  sick  and  stupefied  that  he  thought 
not  whither  he  was  going,  or  what  he  was  doing ;  only  desirous 
of  finding  some  shelter  where  he  could  lie  down  and  rest  and 
sleep  till  morning,  poor  Gerald  wandered  bewildered  along  the 
dark,  dirty,  dismal  streets.  He  was  parched  with  a  consuming 
thirst ;  had  a  house  of  any  kind  been  open ;  had  only  a  light 
appeared  in  a  window  telling  that  somebody  was  astir  within, 
he  would  have  knocked  at  the  door  and  asked  for  a  drink  of 
water  ;  but  there  was  none.  At  last  he  came  in  his  wander 
ings  to  a  public  house  at  which  horses  were  accustomed  to 
bait.  A  horse-trough  was  before  the  house,  and  he  drank 
greedily  from  it,  and  then,  slightly  refreshed,  looked  around 
him  for  some  place  where  he  could  obtain  shelter  from  the 
rain  and  rest  till  morning. 

There  was  a  stable  yard  in  the  rear  of  the  inn,  and  several 
carts  were  standing  beneath  the  shelter  of  a  thatched  roof.  Into 
one  of  these  he  crept  and  lay  down  to  sleep,  but  he  had  not 
rested  long  before  he  found  his  limbs  grow  so  stiff  that  he  was 
afraid  if  he  remained  there  till  daylight  he  would  be  crippled. 
Again  he  sallied  forth  into  the  dark  streets,  but  he  had  been 
seen  by  a  watchman,  who  advanced  towards  him  and  collared 
him. 

"  Hallo,  youngster  !"  said  he,  "  what  are  you  doing  here  this 
time  o'  night,  lurking  about  the  inn-yard,  eh  ?" 

Gerald,  his  teeth  chattering  and  his  limbs  trembling  with 
cold,  endeavored  to  tell  his  story. 

"  A  likely  tale,  that,"  said  the  guardian  of  the  night ;  "  a 
very  pretty  story  to  tell ;  but  it  won't  do.  You  want  a  lodg 
ing  for  the  night,  eh  1  Well,  I'll  find  you  a  lodging  for  the 
night,  and,  perhaps,  for  a  go  3d  many  nights.  Come  along," 
and,  still  retaining  hold  of  the  boy's  collar,  he  dragged,  rather 
than  led  him,  through  the  streets,  until  they  reached  a  dark, 
gloomy  building,  the  doors  and  windows  of  which  were  secured 
by  stout  iron  bars. 

The  watchman  rang  the  night-bell ;  there  was  a  rattling  of 


134  THE    WANDERER. 

bolts  and  chains,  and  then  the  door  swang  slowly,  creaking  on 
its  hinges,  and  Gerald  was  dragged  into  a  room  paved  with 
stone  and  garnished  with  handcuffs. 

"  Halloa !  who  have  you  here,  Martin  ?"  said  the  porter. 
*  What  young  thief  is  that  ?" 

"  A  sneak  as  I  catched  comin'  out  of  the  Bell  and  Dragon 
coachyard,"  replied  the  man  addressed.  "  Is  Mr.  Jenkins  in  ?" 

"  Ay,  I  fancy  he's  in  the  private  office.  I  seed  him  there 
awhile  ago." 

"Many  in  quod  to-night1?"  asked  the  watchman. 

"  A  tolerable  many  ;  the  night's  stormy,  and  they  always 
comes  in  pretty  thick  such  nights." 

"  Well,  tell  Mr.  Jenkins  as  I've  got  a  prisoner  here  as  I 
want  him  to  examine,  afore  he  goes  to  the  cells." 

The  porter  disappeared  in  the  private  office,  but  shortly  re 
turned  in  company  with  the  sergeant  of  the  watch,  who  had 
been  designated  as  Mr.  Jenkins.  The  said  Mr.  Jenkins  was  a 
young  man,  of  rather  a  jaunty  aspect,  who  did  not  seem  to  be 
particularly  pleased  at  being  roused  from  the  comfortable  snooze 
in  which  he  had  been  indulging. 

"  What's  the  charge,  Martin  ?"  he  demanded  in  a  surly 
voice. 

"I  found  this  here  young  feller  a  skulking  round  the  yard  of 
the  Bell  and  Dragon,  sir,  and  took  him  into  custody  accord 
ingly. 

"What  was  he  doing?" 

"  He  was  a  skulking  about  the  yard  in  a  burglarious  fashion, 
sir,  and  couldn't  give  no  account  of  hisself." 

"  Ha  !  he  looks  like  a  young  thief — have  you  searched  his 
person "?"  said  the  sergeant. 

"  No  sir,  not  yet ;  mebby  he  has  got  the  tools  about  him, 
though." 

"Well,  we'll  see,"  said  the  sergeant;  "come,  youngster, 
empty  out  your  pockets,  and  let's  see." 

The  demand  was  a  vain  one  ;  poor  Gerald  turned  his  pock 
ets  inside  out ;  there  was  nothing  in  them. 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  135 

"  Oh,  he's  sly,"  said  the  watchman  ;  "  he's  dropped  the  tools 
when  he  seed  me  a  comin'  to  grab  him.  He's  a  cute  un,  he  is  ; 
anybody  can  see  that." 

"Search  him  thoroughly,  and  see  that  he  has  nothing  con 
cealed  upon  his  person."  said  the  sergeant.  "  Pull  off  your 
boots,  youngster.  Come,  no  whimpering,  or  it  'ill  be  the  worse 
for  you." 

Gerald  pulled  off  his  boots,  his  coat,  and  his  vest,  at  the 
command  of  the  sergeant,  but  all  their  scrutiny  was  to  no  pur 
pose,  nothing  could  be  found  upon  him. 

"  Let's  hear  what  you've  got  to  say  for  yourself,"  said  the 
sergeant,  addressing  the  boy,  after  the  fruitless  search  had  been 
concluded. 

Gerald  repeated  the  story  he  had  already  told  the  watchman. 
"  So  you  think  I  believe  that,  do  you  ]"  said  the  sergeant.  "  No, 
no,  my  boy.  I'm  too  well  used  to  deal  with  such  chaps  as 
you.  You  want  a  lodging,  eh?  Well,  I'll  find  you  a  lodging 
free  gratis  to-night,  and  to-morrow,  and  perhaps  you'll  get 
handsomely  furnished  lodgings  for  some  months  to  come — meat 
and  drink  provided  at  the  expense  of  the  city,  nothing  at  all  to 
do  for  it  but  just  to  step  up  and  down  on  the  tread-mill.  Nice 
pleasant  exercise,  with  a  job  now  and  then  at  picking  oakum, 
by  way  of  change.  Take  him  down  to  the  cells,  and  lock  hi  in 
up  till  morning,"'  addressing  the  porter.  "  Come,  be  off,  no' 
blubbering,  and  see,  if  anybody  else  comes  in,  you  just  lock 
'em  up  till  daylight,  Nixon,  and  don't  trouble  me  again,  unless 
it's  something  very  particular." 

The  sergeant  returned  to  the  private  office,  and  Gerald  was 
led  by  the  porter  of  the  watch-house  along  a  narrow  clamp 
passage,  and  down  a  flight  of  dismal  stone  steps,  and  then  along 
another  passage,  with  cells  on  either  side,  and  into  one  of  the 
furthest  of  these  he  was  thrust,  the  key  was  turned  upon  him, 
and  he  was  left  in  utter  darkness :  but  not  alone  ;  heavy  snor 
ing  betrayed  to  him  the  fact  that  he  had  more  than  one  com 
panion  in  misery,  but,  whoever  they  were,  they  had  not 


136  THE    WANDERER. 

been  roused  by  his  entrance  into  the  foul  den,  and  though  Ger 
ald  shuddered  when  he  heard  the  click  of  the  heavy  lock  and 
the  clank  of  the  rusty  bolts,  as  they  were  drawn  by  his  jailor, 
he  was  so  wearied  in  body  and  mind  that  he,  too,  was  soon 
asleep,  and  happily  oblivious  of  his  wretched  condition. 

When  he  awoke,  with  his  bones  chafed  and  sore  from  lying 
upon  the  rude  bench  which  had  served  him  for  a  couch,  the  fee 
ble  rays  of  daylight  were  just  struggling  in  through  the  grated 
bars  of  the  cell,  making  its  desolation  visible.  His  compan 
ions  in  wretchedness,  a  man — as  he  now  saw  by  the  dim  light 
— past  middle  age,  and  a  youth  about  twenty  years  old,  were 
still  sleeping,  but  from  their  restless  tossing  to  and  fro  on  their 
hard  resting-place,  it  was  evident  that  they  would  soon  awake. 
Gerald,  as  he  looked  at  their  repulsive  features,  dreaded  the 
moment  when  they  should  awake  and  realize  the  fact  that 
another  occupant  had  shared  their  cell  during  the  night.  Both 
were  squalid  in  appearance,  and  meanly  dres'sed,  and  the  head 
of  the  elder  prisoner,  whose  hat  had  fallen  off  in  his  sleep,  was 
perfectly  bald,  or,  rather,  closely  shaven,  for  the  better  conve 
nience  of  disguising  himself  with  a  wig.  His  features  were 
coarse  and  singularly  ferocious,  and  the  general  expression  of 
his  countenance  was  not  improved  by  a  stubbly  beard  of  three 
or  four  days'  growth,  growing  high  up  on  his  cheek-bones. 
The  younger  man  was  not  so  ugly  ;  but  vice  and  dissipation 
had  already  stamped  his  visage  with  their  indelible  marks. 

Presently  the  elder  prisoner  stretched  his  arms  above  his 
head,  and  yawning  frightfully,  opened  his  eyes,  at  the  same 
time  pushing  the  younger  man,  who  was  sleeping  by  his  side, 
and  with  an  oath  bidding  him  rise. 

Both  lazily  sat  up  on  the  bench  and  then  for  the  first  time 
saw  their  fellow  prisoner,  whose  general  aspect,  with  his  clothes 
soiled  and  dried  upon  him,  was  in  few  respects  much  better 
than  theirs. 

"  Hillo  !  who  the  dickens  have  we  here1?"  said  the  elder 
prisoner,  making  a  mock  eye-glass  with  the  thumb  and  fore- 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  131 

finger  of  his  left  hand,  and  peering  through  it.  "  An  interlop 
er  during  the  night,  eh  1  Ho,  youngster,  what  are  you  in  for  % 
You're  a  stranger.  What  lay  are  you  on  ?" 

Gerald  told  his  story  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  and  ex 
pressed  a  hope  that  he  would  soon  be  released  from  the  cell 
and  taken  before  a  magistrate,  when  he  felt  assured  he  should 
be  permitted  to  go  free. 

"  Gammon !"  exclaimed  the  younger  of  his  companions. 
"  Stash  that.  You  can't  come  that  ere  move  over  us.  Don't 
sneak,  but  say  at  once  what  dodge  you're  in  for  ]" 

Gerald  was  too  shocked  to  reply,  and  his  two  companions 
commenced  talking  to  him  in  their  jargon  ;  but  finding  he 
would  not  or  could  not  understand  them,  they  cursed  him  for 
a  sneak,  and  busied  themselves  with  talking  over  their  own 
affairs  and  making  various  conjectures  relative  to  their  chances 
of  escape  when  brought  up  before  the  "  beak,"  as  they  termed 
the  magistrate. 

Happily  for  Gerald  a  great  portion  of  the  jargon  in  which  this 
conversation  was  carried  on  was  unintelligible  to  him,  and  in 
the  course  of  an  hour  the  cell  door  was  opened  and  the  pris 
oners  were  ordered  to  go  up  stairs  and  prepare  to  join  a  pro 
cession  composed  of  the  tenants  of  the  adjoining  cells  to  march 
to  the  Guildhall,  and  appear  before  the  sitting  magistrate. 

Poor  Gerald  had  now  to  submit  to  the  indignity  of  being 
handcuffed  to  a  youth  of  about  his  own  age,  and  then,  in  com 
pany'with  some  twenty  others,  to  parade  through  the  streets 
to  the  court  of  justice.  His  companions  of  the  past  night  were 
both  committed  to  take  their  trial  for  burglary  and  marched 
off  to  Newgate  prison,  and  then  Gerald  was  called  upon. 

"  What  charge  is  against  this  boy  1"  asked  the  magistrate. 

"  I  found  him,  please  your  worship,"  said  the  watchman  who 
had  arrested  him,  "  skulking  suspiciously  about  the  stable  yard 
of  the  Bell  and  Dragon,  and  he  couldn't  give  no  account  of  him 
self,  so  I  took  him  into  custody." 

"  Did  you  find  any  property  upon  him '?"  inquired  the  ma 
gistrate. 


138  THE    WANDERER. 

"  No,  your  worship.  He  told  a  cock  and  bull  story,  as  how 
he'd  been  robbed  at  a  public  house,  which  he  didn't  know  the 
name  of,  nor  the  street,  which  was  suspicious,  so  I  took  him  to 
the  watch  house  for  a  vagrant." 

"  What  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself,  my  lad  f  said  the 
magistrate,  addressing  Gerald.  "How  came  you  to  be  wan 
dering  about  the  streets  at  midnight,  without  any  apparent 
object?" 

Again  Gerald  told  his  story,  and  this  time  to  a  better  pur 
pose.  The  magistrate  listened  attentively  and  scrutinized  him 
closely  while  he  was  speaking,  and  when  he  had  concluded, 
said  : — 

"  I  think,  my  boy,  that  you  are  telling  the  truth.  I  hope 
so,  at  least,  and  I  shall  discharge  you  and  direct  one  of  the 
officers  of  the  court  to  accompany  you  to  the  Blue  Boar,  where 
you  say  your  uncle  is  staying,  but  let  this  be  a  warning  to  you 
not  to  fall  again  into  bad  company.  You  can  go,  and  you, 
officer,"  addressing  a  man  who  stood  near,  "  accompany  him 
to  the  inn  at  which  his  uncle  is  stopping." 

Gerald  thanked  the  magistrate  and  left  the  Guildhall  in 
company  with  the  officer,  and  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour, 
found  himself  at  the  inn  and  in  the  presence  of  his  uncle,  who 
had  been  to  Broad  street  early  that  morning  to  see  him,  and 
learning  that  nothing  had  been  heard  of  him  there,  had  become 
greatly  alarmed  concerning  him,  and  had  conjured  up  all  sorts 
of  terrible  fancies.  He  was  so  glad  to  see  him  that  he  forgot 
to  scold  him,  and  Gerald,  after  changing  his  clothing  and  mak 
ing  a  hearty  breakfast,  retired  to  his  bedroom  to  rest  himself 
after  the  fatigues  of  the  last  eventful  twenty -four  hours. 

Mr.  Ashley,  who  had  again  to  appear  at  Exeter  Hall  that 
day,  extorted  a  promise  from  his  nephew  that  he  would  not 
leave  the  inn  till  his  return,  when  he  would  accompany  him  to 
Broad-street,  and  having  done  this,  he  started  for  the  Hall. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  returned,  in  excellent 
spirits,  for  thanks  to  the  exertions  of  his  friends,  his  application 


LONDON    EXPERIENCES.  139 

had  been  successful,  not  certainly  to  the  full  extent  of  his  hopes, 
for  he  had  been  informed  by  the  bishop  that  there  were  insu 
perable  objections  to  his  being  ordained  as  a  minister  of  the 
Established  Church,  the  chief  of  \vhich  were  the  want  of  an  Uni 
versity  education,  (although  he  had  learnt  quite  as  much  Greek 
and  Latin,  and  Theology,  at  Hackney  college,  as  he  could  have 
learnt  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,)  and  the  fact  of  his  once  having 
occupied  the  position  of  a  dissenting  minister.  However,  to  oblige 
his  good  friend  the  member  of  Parliament,  the  bishop  had 
stretched  a  point,  and  had  promised  him  the  appointment  of 
Teacher  Superintendent  over  the  new  Mission  School  in  the 
island  of  Ceylon,  and  he  was  to  sail  for  that  distant  island  with 
his  family  in  two  months  from  that  day. 

Sanguine  as  usual,  Mr.  Ashley  thought  not  of  the  difficulties 
that  still  lay  in  his  way  :  of  the  expenses  he  should  have  to  in 
cur,  though  his  passage  out  to  the  colony  would  be  paid  by 
the  Society,  nor  of  the  distance  from  home  of  his  place  of 
destination.  India  was  to  him  a  land  of  wealth  and  promise, 
and  his  fancy  pictured  his  young  family  happily  provided  for 
by  fortune  in  that  distant  land. 

It  was  too  late  to  go  to  Broad-street  with  his  nephew  that 
evening ;  besides  he  had  to  write  home  to  his  wife  and  to  Mr. 
Pearce,  though  he  was  too  much  excited  with  his  success  to  do 
either  properly,  so  the  visit  to  the  picture  dealer's  was  deferred 
until  the  following  morning. 


140  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Which  relates  how  Mr.  Ashley  went  to  Ceylon,  and  treats  of  a  mystery  here 
after  to  be  explained. 

As  soon  as  they  had  taken  breakfast  the  next  morning,  Mr. 
Ashley  and  Gerald  set  out  for  the  picture-dealer's  in  Broad- 
street,  Bloomsbury,  Gerald  taking  his  trunk  with  him,  it,  as 
well  as  his  pocket,  being  much  lightened  in  consequence  of  the 
mishap  that  attended  his  first  day's  ramble  in  London.  Mr. 
Ashley,  having  hired  a  hackney  coach,  they  soon  reached  their 
destination,  and  Gerald  was  kindly  welcomed  by  Mr.  Hoffmann. 

It  was  a  strange  place  in  which  he  found  himself.  Mr.  Hoff 
mann  had  been  called  a  picture-dealer  by  Mr.  Pearce,  and  so  he 
was,  truly ;  but  he  was  a  dealer  in  almost  everything  under 
the  sun  besides.  His  long,  dark,  gloomy  shop  contained  a 
heterogeneous  collection,  such  as  could  be  found  in  no  other 
place  but  just  such  a  shop,  in  London.  And  the  proprietor, 
eccentric  in  manners  and  appearance,  was  just  the  personage 
one  would  have  pictured  as  the  owner  of  such  a  singular  col 
lection  of  goods.  Mr.  Hoffmann  was  verging  towards  his  sev 
entieth  year,  but  was  hale  and  hearty  as  a  man  of  fifty.  He 
still  adhered  scrupulously  to  the  costume  of  the  day  when  he 
was  a  young  man.  A  cocked  hat,  a  long  skirted  coat  with  wide 
cuffs,  a  waistcoat,  the  flaps  of  which  reached  nearly  to  his  knee, 
knee-breeches,  black  worsted  stockings,  and  square-toed  shoes 
with  immense  silver  buckles,  completed  his  attire.  Hair  pow 
der  he  had  banished,  as  appertaining  to  the  frivolity  of  youth, 


A   MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.        141 

but  he  still  cherished  with  pride  a  queue  or  pigtail,  tightly 
rolled  up  in  black  silk  ribbon,  and  sometimes  very  greasy  in 
appearance.  He  was  of  German  descent,  as  his  name  implied, 
but  his  grandfather  had  settled  in  England  early  in  life,  and 
therefore  all  traces  of  the  German,  except  the  patronymic,  had 
departed  from  the  grandson. 

He  had  commenced  life  as  an  auctioneer,  but  had  soon  given 
up  the  trade  of  selling  other  people's  goods,  alone,  and  taken  to 
buying  and  selling  anything  and  every  thing  by  which  he  thought 
he  could  turn  an  honest  penny.  His  shop  and  the  extensive 
Avarerooms  beyond,  did  contain  several  pictures  of  great  value, 
but  these  were  swallowed  up  arid  lost  to  sight  in  the  collection 
of  household  and  other  furniture,  which,  with  ancient  armor, 
hardware  and  china  vases,  fire-arms  and  swords  and  daggers, 
from  the  slender  blade  and  ornamented  hilt  of  the  officer's  side 
arm,  to  the  heavy,  rusty  Andrew  Ferrara,  from  the  Turkish 
cimetar  to  the  Malay  cresse — fashioned  in  Birmingham.  Nor 
were  musical  instruments  wanting,  from  the  old-fashioned  spin- 
nett  and  harpsichord  to  the  modern  piano-forte,  from  the  fife 
to  the  kettle-drum.  In  fact,  there  were  few  things  that  could 
be  named  that  could  not  be  found  in  Mr.  Hoffmann's  collection, 
and  not  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not  attend  some  auction  and 
add  still  to  his  strange  miscellany.  The  wonder  only  was, 
what  he  did  with  them ;  to  whom  he  sold  them  again ;  who 
could  purchase  from  such  a  collection  of  oddities !  For  sell 
them  he  did,  to  a  certainty ;  aye,  and  make  money  by  the 
transaction,  too  ;  for  Mr.  Hoffmann  was  a  wealthy  man. 

Mr.  Ashley  shortly  took  leave  of  his  nephew,  he  being  anx 
ious  to  return  home  to  Sandgate  and  make  preparations  for  the 
day  of  his  departure  for  the  East,  when  he  would  shake  the 
dust  from  his  shoes  upon  Sandgate  and  Herrington,  which  had 
been  fraught  with  so  much  inhospitality  to  him  and  his ;  and 
the  remaining  portion  of  the  day  Gerald  spent  in  looking 
around  the  store  and  seeking  to  make  himself  acquainted  with 
its  singular  and  miscellaneous  contents. 


142  THE    WANDERER. 

The  next  morning  he  was  informed  of  the  nature  of  the  du 
ties  required  of  him,  which  were  chiefly  confined  to  taking 
charge  of  the  shop  while  Mr.  Hoffmann  was  out  seeking  to  in 
crease  his  store,  and  keeping  the  more  valuable  articles  free 
from  dust  and  dirt.  He  had  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  pic 
tures  or  paintings,  as  he  had  anticipated,  and  as  may  be  sup 
posed,  was  not  too  well  satisfied  with  his  employment ;  but  he 
did  his  duty  faithfully,  and  succeeded  in  gaining  the  confidence 
of  his  employer,  and  better  still,  in  gaining  the  favor  of  the  old 
lady,  his  wife,  who,  having  no  children  of  her  own  living,  be 
came  much  attached  to  the  boy. 

In  this  employment  Gerald  remained  for  three  years,  only 
once  during  that  period  paying  a  brief  visit  to  his  mother  and 
Alice  Thornton,  at  Herrington. 

A  few  months  prior  to  this  visit  a  stranger,  apparently  about 
forty  years  of  age,  gentlemanly  in  manners  and  appearance, 
and  sunburnt,  as  if  he  had  spent  a  portion  of  his  life  beneath 
the  burning  sun  of  a  tropical  clime,  arrived  in  Herrington,  and 
put  up  at  the  King's  Arms,  then  the  principal  hotel  in  the  town. 

The  morning  after  his  arrival  he  called  upon  the  vicar,  and 
made  various  inquiries  respecting  Alice  Thornton.  There  was 
something  in  his  manner  that  did  not  altogether  satisfy  the 
vicar,  but  he  brought  a  letter  from  Mr.  Ashley,  whom  he  had 
met  in  Ceylon,  and  who,  although  he  had  found  many  unex 
pected  drawbacks,  was,  it  appeared,  tolerably  well  satisfied  with 
his  position  abroad,  in  which  letter  the  stranger,  Mr.  Crad- 
dock,  was  highly  spoken  of;  consequently,  the  vicar  freely 
gave  him  such  information  as  he  required,  and  as  lay  in  hi? 
power  to  give.  He,  however,  advised  him  to  call  upon  Mrs. 
Dalton,  with  whom  Miss  Thornton  w^as  still  residing,  where  he 
could  learn  more  from  her  respecting  the  young  lady  than  it 
was  in  his  power  to  tell. 

This  Mr.  Craddock  promised  to  do,  and  left  the  vicarage 
with,  as  Mr.  Pearce  supposed,  the  intention  of  calling  upon 
Mrs.  Dalton.  But  that  evening  Alice,  who  had  been  out  walk- 


A    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.          143 

ing  upon  the  cliffs,  did  not  return  home,  and  the  stranger  had 
on  that  afternoon  paid  his  bill  at  the  King's  Arms,  and  stating 
that  unexpected  business  called  him  to  London,  had  hurriedly 
taken  his  departure. 

The  Widow  Dalton  was  greatly  disturbed  at  the  strange  dis 
appearance  of  Alice,  whom  she  loved  as  a  daughter.  The  gen 
eral  belief,  when  her  absence  became  known  in  the  town,  was 
that  she  had  fallen  from  the  cliff,  and  the  beach  and  brushwood 
was  searched  for  miles,  but  no  traces  of  her  could  be  found. 
Then,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  days,  some  of  the  coast-guards 
men  recollected  that  they  had  seen  a  young  woman,  answering 
Alice's  appearance,  walking  with  a  gentleman  on  the  cliff.  They 
had  turned  off  into  the  highroad,  and  shortly  afterwards 
the  sound  of  carriage-wheels  was  heard — and  people  shook  their 
heads  and  said  that  Alice  had  been  forcibly  abducted  by  the 
strange,  foreign-looking  gentleman  who  had  stopped  at  the 
King's  Arms,  and  had  been  spirited  off  to  London  or  to  for 
eign  parts.  Nay,  some  went  so  far  as  to  say  they  believed  the 
stranger  was  the  "  gentleman  in  black,"  unmentionable  by  his 
proper  name  to  ears  polite,  and  that  Alice  had  met  with  a  more 
terrible  fate. 

Mr.  Pearce  called  upon  Mrs.  Dalton,  and  related  the  conver 
sation  he  had  held  with  the  stranger,  and  he  alone  came  to  the 
more  sensible  conclusion  that  no  harm  was  intended  the  young 
lady,  but  that  probably  the  stranger  was  a  relative,  who  had 
some  urgent  reason  for  his  conduct. 

However,  he  advertised  for  the  young  lady  in  vain,  and  at 
last  both  he  and  the  widow  came  to  the  conclusion  to  write  to 
Mr.  Ashley  at  Ceylon,  and  learn,  if  possible,  who  this  Mr. 
Craddock  was,  that  had  been  so  intimate  with  him  abroad,  and 
also  whether  Alice  had  any  relations  living  that  Mr.  Ashley 
was  aware  of.  It  would,  of  course,  be  many  months  before  an 
answer  could  be  received  from  Mr.  Ashley,  but  it  appeared  to 
be  the  only  resource  left  to  Mrs.  Dalton.  No  one  grieved 
more  at  this  sudden  and  strange  disappearance  of  Miss  Thorn- 


144  THE    WANDERER. 

ton  than  Gerald,  who  had,  until  latterly  unknown  to  himself, 
nourished  a  secret  attachment  for  the  playmate  of  his  child 
hood. 

He  believed  that  she  had  been  carried  away  by  the  stranger, 
who  had  made  so  brief  a  sojourn  in  Herrington,  and  though  lie 
had  no  idea  to  what  part  of  the  world  she  had  been  carried,  if, 
indeed,  she  were  not  still  in  England,  he  cherished  the  Quixotic 
idea  of  setting  out  in  search  of  her,  if,  when  the  expected  letter 
arrived  from  Ceylon,  Mr.  Ashley  furnished  no  information  re 
garding  her. 

The  duties  which  Gerald  was  called  upon  to  perform  in  Mr. 
Hoffmann's  warehouse  of  miscellanies,  were  not  such  as  suited 
his  ambition,  although  he  endeavored  to  please,  and  succeeded,  in 
performing  them  satisfactorily.  He  longed  for  a  wider  sphere  of 
action,  a  greater  scope  for  the  development  of  his  adventurous 
nature,  but  how  to  escape  from  the  irksome  drudgery  to  which 
he  was  subjected,  he  knew  not ;  and  still  he  did  not  wish  to 
leave  England  until  news  should  come  from  Mr.  Ashley,  in 
India. 

During  his  late  visit  to  Herrington  he  had  been  sorely 
troubled  to  witness  the  failure  in  his  mother's  health.  The  con 
finement  necessary  in  the  arduous  employment  in  which  she 
was  engaged,  had  undermined  her  constitution,  always  delicate, 
and  it  was  evident  to  him  that  her  life  depended  upon  her  ces 
sation  from  the  irksome  and  incessant  toil  at  her  needle,  to 
which  she  was  subjected. 

Gerald  was  now  in  the  eighteenth  year  of  his  age,  and  he 
looked  fully  three  years  older,  and  yet  he  had  no  power  to  ren 
der  her  any  assistance.  His  board  and  lodging,  and  a  sufficient 
pittance  to  enable  himself  to  provide  himself  with  clothing, 
was  all  that  he  earned  at  the  warehouse.  Nor  did  he  perceive 
any  immediate  prospect  of  bettering  his  position.  Before  ho 
could  enter  upon  the  study  of  any  congenial  and  remunerative 
profession,  a  large  fee  would  be  demanded  of  him,  and  then, 
several  years  of  severe  study  would  be  necessary  before  he 


A    CHANGE    OF    ABODE.  145 

could  earn  anything  for  himself.  He  was  naturally  interested 
in  the  land  of  his  birth,  and  when  he  read  or  heard  of  the  suc 
cess  which  attends  industry  in  the  United  States,  he  earnestly 
longed  to  return  thither  and  try  his  own  fortune  in  that  young 
and  energetic  country.  To  be  sure,  his  father's  endeavors 
while  there  had  failed ;  but  the  boy,  born  in  poverty  and  tu 
tored  in  early  life  to  privation,  and  in  the  knowledge  that  his 
success  in  life  must  depend  upon  his  own  exertions,  knew  per 
fectly  well  the  rock  upon  which  the  hopes  and  endeavors  of  his 
father  had  split.  Could  he  go  back  to  America  with  his  mother, 
he  believed  he  would  soon  be  enabled  by  his  own  exertions  to 
maintain  himself  and  his  parent  in  comfort,  and  so  relieve  her 
from  all  further  labor.  Had  he  been  quite  alone  in  the  world, 
he  would  have  worked  his  passage  to  America,  and  trusted  to 
his  own  energies  for  support,  when  he  reached  the  El  Dorado 
of  his  youthful  imagination.  Had  his  mother  been  well  in 
health,  or  even  provided  with  some  less  irksome  means  of  ob 
taining  her  living,  he  would  have  sought  from  her  permission  to 
go  and  seek  his  fortune,  in  the  hope  of  soon  being  able  to  send 
for  her  to  rejoin  him ;  but  in  the  present  precarious  condition 
of  her  health  he  dared  not  think  further  of  the  matter. 

He  spoke  to  the  vicar,  who  was  still  very  friendly,  on  the 
subject,  and  Mr.  Pearce  promised  to  assist  him  in  his  plans. 

"  Your  mother  has  been  carefully  nurtured  and  well-educated, 
Gerald,"  he  said,  when  the  youth  introduced  the  subject,  "per 
haps  if  I  caused  an  advertisement  to  be  put  in  the  London 
Times,  she  might  obtain  a  situation  as  governess.  At  all  events, 
there  is  no  harm  in  trying." 

"  I  would  willingly  do  so,  but  I  have  not  the  means,"  was 
Gerald's  reply.  "  I  know  that  advertising  is  very  expensive." 

"  You  speak  truly,  it  is  so,"  said  the  vicar  ;  "  but  I  have  no 
objection  to  lend  you  the  trifle  that  will  be  required ;  some  day 
you  will  be  enabled  to  repay  me,  I  know,  and  if  not — " 

"  If  I  live  you  shall  be  repaid,  sir,"  interrupted  Gerald.     "  I 
can  never  forget  your  kindness." 
7 


146  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Don't  mention  that,  my  boy,"  replied  the  vicar.  "I  know 
you  are  grateful,  and  that  is  enough  ;  but  don't  be  too  san 
guine  ;  there  are  so  many  persons  seeking  situations  of  a  simi 
lar  description  ;  and  then,  in  some  of  these  situations,  the  labor 
required  is  even  greater  and  more  irksome  than  that  in  which 
your  mother  is  now  engaged,  and  the  remuneration  a  mere 
pittance.  But  we  will  see  what  can  be  done.  How  long  do 
you  remain  here  1" 

"  I  have  permission  from  Mr.  Hoffmann  to  stay  a  month,  sir  ; 
I  have  been  home  a  week  to  day." 

"Very  well;  you  needn't  say  anything  to  your  mother;  I 
will  write  an  advertisement  out  and  send  it  for  insertion,  to 
London,  to-morrow." 

Gerald  thanked  the  worthy  clergyman,  and  after  conversing 
for  some  time  on  other  matters,  returned  home. 

The  advertisement  was  duly  forwarded,  and  inserted  for  a 
week,  and  at  the  expiration  of  that  time,  three  answers  were 
received  by  Mr.  Pearce  ;  but,  as  he  had  anticipated,  not  one  of 
them  was  suitable.  They  required  the  possession,  by  the  ad 
vertiser,  of  every  conceivable  accomplishment,  and  demanded, 
also,  the  control  of  her  whole  time  ;  insisted,  in  fact,  that  for 
less  than  the  wages  of  an  upper  servant,  she  should  perform 
the  joint  duties  of  a  servant  and  a  governess.  Out  of  the 
three,  there  was  not  one  that  could  have  been  chosen  in  prefer 
ence  to  another. 

Dr.  Knight,  who  was  attending  the  widow  professionally,  and 
who  delicately  insisted,  for  friendship's  sake,  in  giving  advice 
and  sending  medicine  gratuitously,  was  privy  to  the  endeavors 
the  vicar  was  making  to  serve  her,  and  he  called  at  the  vicar 
age  one  morning,  for  the  express  purpose  of  seeing  Mr.  Pearce, 
upon  the  subject. 

"  Young  Dalton,"  said  he,  after  having  informed  the  vicar  of 
the  object  of  his  visit,  "  has  told  me  that  you  have  been  unsuc 
cessful  in  your  endeavors  to  obtain  a  suitable  situation  for  his 
mother,  as  a  governess.  Poor  boy  !  he  looks  very  crest-fallen 
about  it." 


A    CHANGE    OF    ABODE.  147 

"  Yes,"  said  the  vicar.  "  The  advertisement  has  been  an 
swered,  but  the  situations  that  offer  themselves  are  not  such  as 
would  suit.  They  would  entail  severer  toil  than  she  has  to 
perform  at  present.  And  yet  something  ought  to  be  done  for 
her.  I  have  not  seen  her  for  some  time  past;  but  I  called  af 
ter  Gerald  told  me  of  her  failing  health,  and  was  really  shocked 
at  her  altered  appearance.  What  do  you  think  of  her  case, 
doctor  V> 

"  She  is  very  unwell,"  replied  Doctor  Knight,  "  and  if  she 
remains  here  she  will  not  live  another  year.  The  air  of  the 
sea  coast  is  too  keen  for  her." 

"  She  is  not,  I  trust,  dangerously  ill  *?"  said  the  vicar. 

"  Not  exactly  so  at  present,"  returned  the  doctor.  "  Change 
of  air  and  change  in  her  mode  of  life  may  do  wonders;  but 
she  is  not  strong,  and  will  scarcely  live  to  wear  gray  hairs  on 
her  head." 

"  Has  she  no  friends  at  all,  who,  if  they  were  aware  of  her 
condition,  would  be  willing  to  serve  her  ?"  said  the  clergyman. 

"  I  never  heard  Mr.  Ashley  say  anything  in  relation  to  her,  ex 
cept  that  she  was  his  sister-in  law,  and  that  her  husband  died  in 
America." 

"  You  were  intimate,  I  believe,  with  Mrs.  Ashley's  family 
before  her  marriage  1'' 

"  Not  very  intimate,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  but  I  was  slightly 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Dalton — Squire  Dalton,  as  he  was  called. 
I  was  studying  medicine  at  the  time,  and  once  attended  a  party 
given  at  Dalton  Hall.  Mr.  Dalton  was  then  supposed  to  be 
a  wealthy  man.  His  son,  who  subsequently  married  the  pres 
ent  Widow  Dalton — a  very  worthy,  excellent  young  man  he 
was — was  then  at  college.  The  old  gentleman  died  completely 
bankrupt  soon  afterwards,  and  in  the  course  of  time  I  heard 
that  young  Dalton  had  married  a  poor  but  amiable  and  highly 
accomplished  girl,  who  was  dependant  upon  a  miserly  churl  of 
an  uncle,  and  that  Miss  Dalton  had  married  a  young  and  pen 
niless  dissenting  minister.  That  was  all  I  knew  about  the  fami 
ly  until  I  came  to  Herrington  to  practice  my  profession,  when} 


148  THE    WANDERER. 

through  my  former  slight  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Ashley,  I  became 
acquainted  with  her  husband.  From  him  I  heard  that  the  old 
miser  had  been  glad  enough  to  get  his  ward  off  his  hands — the 
marriage,  I  believe,  was  clandestine — and  had  shortly  after 
wards  married  his  housekeeper — a  low-minded,  vulgar  woman 
— and  dying  a  year  or  two  afterwards,  he  left  her  the  whole  of 
his  property.  She  married  a  second  time,  and  left  that  part  of 
the  country — so  I  suppose  it  would  be  useless  to  seek  assist 
ance  from  her,  even  if  we  knew  where  she  is  to  be  found.  She 
had,  for  interested  motives,  always  disliked  the  young  lady ; 
and  as  to  Mr.  Ashley's  relatives,  they  all  forsook  her,  when, 
after  her  father's  death,  she  married  her  present  husband." 

"  Poor  thing  !"  exclaimed  the  vicar.  "Then,  I  suppose,  we 
needn't  look  for  any  assistance  from  them  ?" 

"  I  fear  not,"  returned  the  doctor.  "  But  I  am  forgetting  my 
object  in  making  this  call.  Looking  over  the  London  Times 
yesterday,  I  saw  this  advertisement,  and  I  thought  that  possi 
bly  it  might  suit  Mrs.  Dal  ton,  though  it  is  nothing  to  boast  of;" 
and  taking  the  paper  from  his  coat-pocket,  he  handed  it  to  the 
vicar,  who  read  as  follows  : 

"  The  rector  of  a  parish  in  the  county  of  Huntingdon,  who 
has  established,  at  his  own  expense,  a  boys'  and  girls'  school  in 
the  village  in  which  his  church  is  located,  is  desirous  of  secur 
ing  the  services  of  a  competent  school-mistress  for  the  latter 
school.  He  would  be  happy  to  make  an  engagement  with  a 
widow  lady  who  had  become  reduced  in  circumstances,  but  has 
had  the  advantages  of  a  good  education.  The  duties  will  be 
light,  and  of  course  the  tuition  will  be  confined  to  common 
English  education,  plain  sewing,  &c.,  but  the  advertiser  would 
give  the  preference  to  a  person  superior  to  the  ordinary  run  of 
village  school-mistresses.  The  salary  will  be  £30  a  year, 
house,  coal,  and  candle  free.  Address  the  Rev.  Wm.  Davis, 
Morley's  Hotel,  Charing  Cross,  for  one  week,  stating  qualifica 
tions,  and  giving  proper  references.  None  other  than  persons 
of  acknowledged  piety  need  apply." 


A    CHANGE    OF   ABODE.  149 

"  The  very  thing,"  said  the  vicar,  when  he  read  the  adver 
tisement.  "  I  know  Mr.  Davis  by  reputation.  He  is  a  most 
worthy  man,  and  possessing  an  independent  income  of  his 
own,  he  devotes  the  whole  of  his  income  from  the  rector 
ship  to  charitable  purposes.  I  will  write  to  him  immediately. 
Mrs.  Dalton  is  exactly  fitted  for  the  situation." 

"  Of  what  parish  has  he  the  charge  ?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Let  me  think,"  said  the  vicar.  "  Abbot,  ah!  Abbotsford,  in 
Huntingdonshire,  that's  the  place  ;  but  we  must  write  to  Mor- 
ley's  Hotel,  in  London,  you  know." 

"  Of  course,"  returned  the  doctor,  "and  then  we  must  devise 
some  method  of  transporting  the  widow  there." 

"You  forget  that  we  don't  know  that  we  shall  succeed  yet," 
said  the  vicar,  smiling  at  the  doctor's  impetuosity. 

"  To  be  sure,  so  I  did.  I  took  the  thing  for  granted,  seeing 
you  so  earnest,"  replied  the  doctor ;  "  but  if  you  do  succeed, 
I'm  not  a  rich  man,  as  you  know,  but  I'll  willingly  advance  the 
money  she  will  need  to  carry  her  there." 

"  Only  half,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  vicar,  grasping  the 
doctor's  hand,  "only  half;  I'll  bear  my  share." 

"  Be  it  so,  then,"  returned  the  doctor. 

"And  we  can  say,"  continued  the  vicar,  "that  we  lend  her 
the  money,  and  that  her  son  will  repay  us  some  day,  as  he  will, 
you  know,  if  it  ever  lies  in  his  power." 

"Exactly,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "  Mrs.  Dalton  is  very  sensitive, 
and  it  won't  do  to  hurt  her  feelings." 

"  Certainly  not,"  returned  the  vicar  ;  "  but  now,  I  think,  I'd 
better  write  at  once,  in  time  for  the  mail  which  leaves  to-night." 

"  I  think  so,"  said  the  doctor,  and  so  it  was  arranged,  and 
shortly  after  the  doctor  took  his  leave. 

In  three  days  the  vicar  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Davis  in 
reply  to  his  own.  It  was  satisfactory  in  every  particular. 
"The  recommendation  of  Mr.  Pearce,"  wrote  Mr.  Davis,  "  was 
all  that  could  be  required."  And,  moreover,  both  the  vicar 
and  the  doctor  were  relieved  from  the  expense  their  benevolence 


150  THE    WANDERER. 

was  about  to  entail  upon  them,  Mr.  Davis  voluntarily  taking 
it  upon  himself  to  defray  the  expenses  of  bringing  the  widow 
to  Abbotsford,  where  she  was  expected  in  a  fortnight. 

This  was  just  the  space  of  time  that  yet  remained  to  Gerald 
in  Herrington,  and  the  same  day  that  the  letter  was  received 
fnom  Mr.  Davis,  the  vicar  and  the  doctor  called  together  at 
Mrs.  Dalton's  lodgings,  and  told  her  the  good,  though  unex 
pected  news,  for  Gerald  had  received  strict  injunctions  not  to 
mention  to  his  mother  anything  about  the  advertisement,  lest 
expectations  should  be  raised  which  would  not  be  realized. 

The  prospect  of  the  removal  from  Herrington  and  the  keen 
sea  air,  to  a  quiet  village  in  pne  of  the  midland  counties,  was 
very  grateful  to  the  widow.  She  could  not  sufficiently  express 
her  thanks  to  the  kind  friends  who  had  so  generously  and  dis 
interestedly  interfered  in  her  behalf,  and  her  obligations  to  the 
vicar  were  further  increased  by  his  writing  to  Mr.  Hoffman 
and  obtaining  permission  for  her  son  to  accompany  her  on  her 
jonrney  and  see  her  quietly  settled  at  Abbotsford.  Gerald  had 
several  interviews  with  his  old  friend,  Jemmy  Milton,  during 
his  stay  at  Herrington.  The  few  years  that  had  passed  over 
the  old  man's  head  since  Gerald  left  for  London,  had  made  no 
perceptible  difference  in  his  appearance.  He  was  as  loquacious 
as  ever,  and  as  fond  of  the  marvellous.  Poor  as  he  was,  he 
took  the  world  lightly,  and  envied  no  man.  But  a  great  change 
had  come  over  his  brother,  the  Deacon.  He  had  lost  his  wife 
and  his  only  son,  and  was  now  a  lonely,  wretched  old  man, 
feeble  in  health,  and  more  querulous  than  ever,  while  his  ava 
rice  had  grown  upon  him  to  such  an  extent  that  wealthy  as  he 
\vas,  he  was  said  to  deny  himself  the  commonest  necessaries  of 
life. 

"  I  am  going  away  to-morrow,  Jemmy,"  said  Gerald,  the  day 
before  Mrs.  Dalton  was  to  leave  for  Abbotsford.  He  had  met 
the  old  man  on  the  beach,  and  knowing  well  that  nothing  would 
please  him  better,  he  added  : 

"  I'll  take  a  sail  in  your  boat  this  afternoon,  Jemmy.  It  may 
be  long  before  I  have  another  opportunity." 


A    CHANGE    OF   ABODE.  151 

u  With  all  my  heart,  Master  Gerald,"  was  the  old  fisher 
man's  reply.  "  It's  just  what  I  was  a  going  to  ax  you  to  do. 
But  Lor'  bless  ye,  don't  say  you'll  never  have  another  oppor 
tunity.  We'll  have  a  plenty  of  sails  together,  yet,  please 
God.  But  where  are  you  a  going  to,  back  to  Lunnun "?" 

"  After  I  have  seen  my  mother  safely  lodged  in  Abbotsford, 
Jemmy." 

"  Then  you  be  agoing  with  her?  I'm  main  glad  o'  that. 
She'd  feel  awful  lonesome  like  going  alone,  by  herself." 

"  It's  very  kind  of  my  employer  to  grant  me  permission," 
said  Gerald,  "  and  still  kinder  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Pearce  that 
he  wrote  to  him  to  ask  it." 

"  Aye,  Gerald,  my  boy  ;  he's  a  good  man,  the  parson.  I 
wish  there  was  a  many  like  him  and  Doctor  Knight,  and  that 
all  had  lots  of  money.  What  a  mighty  sight  of  good  they'd 
do." 

"  No  doubt  they  would,  Jemmy,"  said  Gerald.  "  You're 
right  there  ;  but  it's  strange  that  those  who  have  the  inclination 
to  do  the  most  good  with  money,  are  seldom  blessed  with  a 
superabundance  of  it." 

"  Strange  it  is,"  returned  the  old  fisherman  ;  "  but  depend 
upon  it  it's  all  right.  Sarcumstances  alters  cases,  and  often 
times  a  man  who's  got  a  heart  as  soft  as  a  soaked  sea-biscuit 
while  he's  poor,  grows  to  be  as  hard  as  a  grindstone  when  he 
gets  rich.  Why,  I  know'd  a  skipper  once  who  sailed  in  the 
Portugal  trade.  He  was  as  good-hearted  a  man  as  ever  trod 
a  deck,  and  he  used  to  complain  of  the  grub  the  owners  put 
aboard  for  the  men  afore  the  mast,  and  to  send  'em  small  stores 
out  of  his  own  private  stock,  and  he'd  never  let  a  chap  want  a 
chaw  of  'bacca  while  he'd  got  a  roll  of  pig-tail  or  a  stick  of 
nigger-head  left  himself:  but  bym-by  an  old  uncle  of  his'n 
chanced  to  die  and  leave  him  a  brig  of  his  own,  and  he  turned 
out  arter'ards  to  be  one  of  the  skinniest  old  villains  as  ever 
sent  a  ship  to  sea  badly  found.  No,  master  Gerald,  don't 
grumble  at  the  ways  o'  Providence,  but  leave  it  to  its  own  ac- 


152  THE    WANDERER. 

tions.  It's  the  poor  you'll  find,  as  is  the  best  friends  and  has 
the  feelingest  hearts  for  the  poor." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Jemmy,"  replied  Gerald  ;  "  but 
somehow  or  other  it  upsets  my  philosophy." 

"Then  let  philosophy  alone,  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  "and 
take  to  observation,  while  you  wait  for  experience,  and  when 
you  gets  to  be  as  old  as  I  be,  you'll  find  as  Providence  was 
right  and  philosophy  wrong.  But  how  do  you  like  Lunnun  7 
Of  course  you've  seed  Wapping  and  Radcliffe  Highway,  and 
Limehouse  and  Poplar,  and  all  them  parts  7  Ah  !  many's  the 
jolly  spree  I've  had  there." 

"  I  have  only  once  or  twice  visited  the  places  you  speak  of," 
said  Gerald  ;  "  and  I  can't  say  they  impressed  me  very  favora 
bly  when  I  did  visit  them." 

"  No  !"  exclaimed  Jemmy,  evidently  very  much  surprised  at 
what  he  considered  Gerald's  want  of  taste.  "  But  you've  been 
to  the  top  of  the  monument  and  inside  St.  Paul's  cathedral  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  said  Gerald. 

"  And  there  was  summit  to  see  there  7" 

"  Undoubtedly  they  are  worth  a  visit  from  a  stranger,  but  I 
am  busily  occupied  in  quite  a  distant  part  of  the  city,  and  du 
ring  the  three  years  I  have  been  in  London  have  had  little  op 
portunity  for  sight-seeing,  and  little  money  to  spend  when  I 
had  opportunity." 

"  What  sort  of  business  are  you  employed  in,  may  I  ask  7" 
said  Jemmy. 

"  I  am  employed  in  a  warehouse,  buying,  selling,  and  arrang 
ing  rubbish  of  all  kinds,"  replied  Gerald. 

••  Do  you  like  that  sort  of  work  7"  asked  Jemmy. 

"  Like  it !  I'm  as  sick  and  tired  of  it  as  I  can  well  be,"  re 
plied  Gerald.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  my  mother's  sake,  I'd  run  away 
and  go  to  sea,  or  go  to  America,  where  I  was  born,  if  I  could, 
and  try  my  fortune  there." 

"  The  sea's  a  hard  life,"  said  the  old  man ;  "  but  I  can't 
blame  you,  boy.  It  comes  hard  to  a  lad  of  spirit  to  be  wast- 


A   SEA    YARN,    "WITH   A   MORAL.  158 

ing  his  time  behind  a  counter.  And  then  there's  fresh  air  and 
grand  sights  to  be  seen  on  the  ocean,  after  all.  But  you're 
right,  boy,  you're  right,  to  think  of  the  old  woman.  Don't  go 
agin  her,  Gerry,  if  you  wants  to  have  luck  in  this  world,  and 
to  mount  up'ards  when  your  time  comes." 

"  I  wish  I  could  emigrate  with  my  mother  to  the  United 
States,"  said  Gerald,  in  reply. 

"  Aye,  that's  a  mighty  fine  country,"  said  Jemmy  ;  "I've  been 
on  that  coast.  That's  where  the  sea-sarpent  cruises  about." 

"  The  sea-serpent !     What  is  that  ?"  asked  Gerald. 

"A  great  fish,  half  eel,  half  sarpent,"  replied  Jemmy,  "only 
a  monstrous  sight  bigger  than  any  whale  as  ever  spouted." 

"  Did  you  ever  come  across  it  1"  inquired  Gerald,  anticipat 
ing  one  of  the  old  man's  yarns. 

"  Aye,  did  I  ?"  returned  the  old  fisherman  ;  "  and  I'd  sooner 
fall  in  with  an  enemy's  line  of  battle  ship,  or  encounter  the 
heaviest  gale  that  ever  blowed,  than  fall  in  with  the  sea-sarpent 
agin." 

"  How  was  it  T  asked  Gerald. 

"  Why,  d'ye  see,  I  was  second  mate  aboard  one  of  the  smart 
est  little  schooners  that  ever  traded  between  Halifax  and  New 
York.  I'd  been  in  her  three  v'yages,  and  on  the  fourth,  when 
we  had  been  three  days  at  sea  from  Halifax,  and  was  every 
moment  expecting  to  see  land,  for  we'd  had  a  spanking  run, 
just  as  night  came  on,  it  fell  calm,  and  the  skipper  took 
to  swearing  so  awful  that  we  thought  some  harm  'd  come  of  it 
afore  morning,  and  so  there  did.  About  eight  bells,  it  being 
my  morning  watch,  I'd  just  relieved  the  chief  mate,  and  was 
leaning  over  the  taffrail,  watching  the  schooner,  as  she  heaved 
up  and  down  on  the  water,  for  there  was  a  great  swell  on,  when 
I  sees  the  cat's-paws  astarn.  I  know'd  as  a  breeze  was  a  comin', 
and  I  went  down  and  called  the  skipper.  Up  he  comes  in  a 
minute,  but  not  so  fast  as  the  breeze  com'd  up  astarn. 

" '  Set  all  sail,'  he  shouts ;  '  I'l  drive  her  into  port  or  into 
h — 1,  if  the  d — Fs  after  me  before  the  day's  out.' 


154  THE    WANDERER. 

"  You  see,  he'd  a  cargo  of  shingles  aboard,  that  he  expected 
to  get  a  good  market  for,  for  there  was  a  demand  for  them  in 
the  States,  and  four  other  vessels  was  a  coming  up  only  a  few 
day's  sail  astarn,  likewise  with  shingles  aboard. 

"The  breeze  freshened  up,  as  if  the  d — 1  had  heard  him,  and 
was  going  to  give  us  a  taste  of  his  power,  and  by  the  time  the 
sails  were  trimmed  we  were  spanking  along  full  eight  knots  an 
hour,  when,  just  as  daylight  began  to  glimmer  in  the  sky,  the 
man  at  the  wheel  says  to  me — 

" '  You'd  better  look  out,  mate,  that's  a  squall  working  up 
to  leeward.' 

"  I  looked  toward  the  direction  he  pointed  out,  and  there, 
sure  enough,  was  a  cloud  rising,  as  black  as  thunder,  and  rush 
ing  towards  us  like  a  whirlwind. 

"  '  Let  go  the  tops'l  haliards,'  I  shouted  out,  without  waiting 
for  the  skipper  to  give  the  order. 

"  '  Keep  all  fast,'  says  he  ;  '  don't  stir  tack  or  sheet,  if  it 
blows  the  d — 1  himself  and  all  his  imps.'  But  he'd  scarce  got 
the  words  out  of  his  mouth  when  down  comes  the  squall,  takes 
the  schooner  all  aback,  carries  away  our  sails  clean  out  of  the 
bolt  ropes,  like  as  if  they  were  so  much  tinder,  and  whips  the 
foremast  overboard  as  if  it  had  been  a  reed  snapped  asunder. 
Afore  we  had  time  to  clear  the  wreck,  the  squall  had  passed 
over,  and  the  ship  lay  again  almost  becalmed  on  the  water. 

"  '  There's  a  Jonah  aboard  this  here  craft,'  says  the  skipper, 
*  and  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  he  was  in  the  whale's  belly. 
We've  lost  our  chance  of  a  good  market  for  the  shingles  now,' 
and  he  set  to  a  swearin'  agin  as  if  he  was  possessed. 

"  '  Land  ho  !'  calls  out  a  man  from  the  mast-head. 

"  '  Where  away  V  cries  the  skipper. 

"  '  Dead  to  leeward,'  says  the  man. 

"  '  Dead  to  leeward  be ,'  says  the  skipper,  in  a  towerin' 

passion.  '  There  aint  no  land  within  a  thousand  miles  in  that 
quarter.' 

"  But  sure  enough  there  was  a  long,  low,  black  ledge  of  rock, 


A    SEA    YARN,    WITH    A    MORAL.  155 

apparently,  stretching  away  for  miles,  the  near  point  of  it  close 
to  us,  and  we  drifting  right  upon  it,  for  our  rigging  was  ham 
pered,  and  we  had  no  command  of  the  schooner's  helm.  Pre 
sently,  the  skipper  shouts  out — 

"  '  That  aint  no  land,  or  my  name  ain't  Peters,  one  or  t'other, 
says  he,  and  we  all  looked  and  seed  the  thing,  whatever  it  was, 
through  the  glimmer — for  it  warnt  yet  full  daylight — a  rear  in' 
up  its  monstrous  head  and  a  openin'  its  jaws  wide  enough  to 
swallow  down  a  hogshead  without  making  two  gulps,  while  far 
away  its  body  was  a  writhin'  like  a  snake,  and  the  fins  was  a 
movin'  in  all  directions,  like  as  if  it  was  mad  with  fury. 

"  '  That's  the  sea  sarpent !'  cries  a  chap  from  Nantucket, 
who'd  seed  the  monster  once  afore,  and  before  any  one  had 
time  to  speak  another  word,  he  struck  us  with  as  much  force  as 
if  we'd  run  on  a  rock,  staving  in  our  larboard  bulwarks  and 
knocking  everything  adrift  on  the  deck. 

"  Presently  we  shoved  off,  and  found  the  schooner  was  filling 
with  water.  We  had  just  time  to  take  to  the  boats  and  get 
clear  of  the  wreck  when  she  went  down,  head  foremost,  for  we 
had  pig  iron  ballast  aboard,  and  the  shingles  warn't  no  use  to 
keep  her  afloat.  All  the  time  there  was  the  sea  sarpent  bobbin' 
and  writhin'  away  at  a  distance  ;  but  it  didn't  come  in  chase  of 
us,  as  we  feared,  and  fortunately  it  had  fallen  quite  calm  agin, 
so  we  pulled  away  with  all  our  might  to  give  it  a  clear  berth. 
After  a  while  we  mustered  the  hands  to  see  whether  any  one 
was  a  missing,  and,  sure  as  fate,  the  skipper  wasn't  to  be  found  j 
he  was  gone,  with  all  his  sins  upon  his  head. 

"  We  were  picked  up  by  a  brig  that  came  in  hail  about  night 
fall,  and  carried  into  New  York,  and  that's  how  I  came  to  see 
the  sea  sarpent." 

"  It  might  have  been  a  sunken  rock,  not  laid  down  in  the 
charts,  that  you  struck  the  edge  of,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  have  read 
of  such  things." 

"  So  folks  always  says,  who  won't  believe  in  special  provi 
dences,''  said  Jemmy.  "  The  skipper  of  the  brig  said  he  had 


156  THE    WANDERER. 

passed  a  shelve  of  rock,  with  seaweed  growing  upon  it,  early 
in  the  morning,  and  he  would  have  it  that  was  what  we  thought 
was  the  sea  sarpent." 

"  Most  likely  it  was,  Jemmy,"  said  Gerald. 

"  No,  Master  Gerald,  no.  It  was  the  sea  serpent  as  sure  as 
I'm  Jemmy  Milton,  and  the  moral  of  the  story  is,  "  don't  call 
on  the  old  'un  to  help  you,  or  p'raps  he'll  take  you  at  your 
word,  and  come  when  you  don't  want  him." 

"  A  moral,  as  usual  to  your  yarns,  Jemmy,"  replied  Gerald. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  old  fisherman ;  "  if  there  warn't  a 
moral  to  be  larnt,  how  came  the  skipper  to  be  the  only  man  as 
was  lost1?" 

They  were  now  approaching  the  pier,  and  shortly  after  they 
landed,  and  Gerald,  bidding  the  honest  old  man  farewell,  re 
turned  home  to  prepare  for  his  journey  on  the  morrow. 

He  found  Dr.  Knight  and  the  vicar  at  the  house,  both  of  whom, 
notwithstanding  the  generosity  of  Mr.  Davis,  insisted  upon 
forcing  a  small  sum  of  money  on  the  widow,  to  be  paid  by 
Gerald  at  some  future  day,  and  the  vicar  promised,  should  he 
receive  a  letter  from  Mr.  Ashley,  giving  any  information  re 
specting  Alice  Thornton,  to  let  Gerald  and  Mrs.  Dalton  know 
immediately. 

The  two  gentlemen  soon  left  them,  after  kind  wishes  had 
been  mutually  expressed,  and  everything  having  been  arranged 
for  the  journey  in  the  morning,  Mrs.  Dalton  and  Gerald  retired 
for  the  night. 

At  an  early  hour  on  the  following  day  they  were  on  their 
way  to  the  widow's  new  home  at  Abbotsford,  at  which  place 
they  arrived  after  a  day  and  a  night's  travel.  Mrs.  Dalton  was 
kindly  received  by  the  rector,  and  lodged  with  her  son  in  his 
house,  until  her  cottage  was  ready  for  her.  Gerald  remained 
just  long  enough  to  see  his  mother  comfortably  installed  in  her 
new  residence,  and  then  he  returned  to  his  employer  in  London. 


DISCONTENT.  157 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Descriptive  of  Gerald's  feelings  when  he  returned  to  London. — Also  of  what 
Mr.  Ashley  wrote  from  Ceylon. — And  of  a  bright  ray  which  shed  a  light 
over  Gerald's  gloomy  prospects. 

MORE  moodily  than  ever  did  Gerald  return  to  his  duties  in 
London  after  having  seen  his  mother  comfortably  settled  at 
Abbottsford. 

Several  times  during  his  visit  he  had  drawn  his  conver 
sation  with  her  to  the  subject  of  going  abroad,  for,  as  he 
told  her,  he  felt  that  without  influential  friends  to  aid  him  and 
push  him  forward  in  England,  he  would  be  bowed  down  to 
years,  if  not  to  a  lifetime  of  drudgery.  America,  his  native 
land,  was  the  land  of  his  hopes,  and  there  he  wished  to  go  ; 
alone  and  unaided,  if  he  could  find  no  one  to  assist  him  for 
ward  ;  and  he  built  up  flattering  anticipations  of  the  day,  not 
far  distant,  when  he  should  be  enabled  to  send  for  his  mother 
to  rejoin  him  there,  and  live  with  her  in  a  position  of  compara 
tive  affluence,  such  as  she  had  been  a  stranger  to  since  the 
hapless  hour  when  she  had  first  quitted  her  native  shores. 
But  Mrs.  Dalton  lent  an  unwilling  ear  to  his  persuasions. 
Knowing,  as  she  did,  the  causes  of  the  ill-success  of  her  hus 
band  in  the  United  States,  she  still  shrunk  from  the  idea  of 
her  more  energetic  son  going  there  alone  and  unbefriended,  nor 
would  she  listen  to  his  expressed  desire  to  seek  his  fortune 
elsewhere.  Only  one  concession  could  Gerald  obtain;  it  was 
this  :  She  would  have  no  objection  to  his  going  abroad,  though 


158  THE    WANDERER. 

she  would  rather  that,  while  she  lived,  he  remained  in  Eng 
land,  provided  he  went  in  some  ostensible  situation.  If  he 
could  procure  that,  she  promised  to  give  her  consent ;  other 
wise,  she  charged  him,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  not  to  leave  her, 
and  Gerald,  quite  overcome  at  the  sight  of  her  grief,  promised 
that  he  would  not. 

On  one  occasion  Gerald  introduced  the  subject  of  Mr.  Brow- 
er's  conversation  in  the  stage-coach  during  the  journey  from 
Liverpool  to  Derby,  which  had  made  such  an  impression  upon 
his  memory  at  the  time,  young  as  he  was,  that  he  had  never 
forgotten  it.  But  Mrs.  Dalton  treated  the  matter  lightly. 
She  had  once,  some  years  before,  written  a  letter,  unknown 
to  her  friends,  to  the  address  of  that  gentleman  in  Liverpool, 
and  receiving  no  reply,  (Mr.  Brower,  in  fact,  had  returned  to 
the  United  States,)  she  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  what 
he  had  said  in  regard  to  the  probable  future  value  of  the  waste 
land,  the  title-deed  of  which  she  still  held,  was  merely  one 
of  the  sanguine  dreams  in  which  she  knew  that  Ameri 
cans  were  apt  to  indulge.  Gerald  said  he  should  write  to  Cin 
cinnati.  He  could  do  so,  if  he  pleased,  was  Mrs.  Dalton's 
reply,  but  it  would  be  useless  ;  and  Gerald  did  not  write. 

Four  months  passed  away  without  any  material  change.  At 
the  expiration  of  that  period,  Gerald  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Pearce,  inclosing  one  bearing  the  Ceylon  post-mark  from  Mr. 
Ashley. 

Gerald  eagerly  opened  it,  hoping  that  it  might  contain  some 
news  of  Alice  Thornton,  whose  image,  since  her  singular  disap 
pearance,  as  it  was  supposed  with  the  mysterious  stranger, 
though  others  thought  she  had  fallen  accidentally  from  the  per 
pendicular  cliffs  into  the  sea  beneath,  had  ever  been  present  to 
his  memory  ;  or  at  least  hoping  that  it  would  furnish  some  ac 
count  of  her  parentage,  for  neither  he  nor  Mrs.  Dalton  knew 
more  than  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  fellow-student  of  Mr. 
Ashley's,  whom  he  had  protected  since  her  father's  decease. 

The  letter  was  addressed  to   Gerald.     (It  appeared  that  a 


A  LETTER  FROM  CEYLON.        159 

packet  had  been  received  from  Mr.  Ashley  containing  letters 
for  Mr.  Pearce,  Dr.  Knight,  and  Mrs.  Dalton  and  her  son.)  It 
ran  as  follows : 

"  COLUMBO,  CEYLON,  January  7th,  18 — . 
"  MY  DEAR  NEPHEW  : 

"  I  duly  received  the  letters  sent  out  on  board  the  Bucking 
ham,  East  Indiaman,  and  was,  with  my  family,  delighted  to  hear 
from  you.  Although  we  know  that  many  changes  may  have 
taken  place  since  the  letters  we  receive  four  months  after  they 
were  written  were  penned,  still,  for  the  time  being,  their  perusal 
seems  to  unite  us  together  again.  None  can  know,  but  those 
who  are  separated  by  so  many  thousand  leagues  of  ocean,  how 
fondly  we  gaze  upon  the  well-known  hand-writing,  and  how  we 
treasure  every  kind  expression — every  proof  that  we  are  not 
forgotten  by  those,  still  so  dear  to  us,  whom  we  have  so  long 
parted  from.  It  is  only  after  we  have  read  them  and  talked 
over  them  again  and  again,  that  we  recollect  that  amidst  the 
continual  changes  that  are  occurring,  things  may  be  very  differ 
ent  at  the  time  we  read  from  what  they  were  when  our  friends 
wrote.  Let  us  hope,  however,  that  at  least  matters  have  not 
changed  for  the  worse,  and  comfort  ourselves  with  the  know 
ledge  that  there  is  a  kind  Providence  watching  over  us  all, 
and  that  whatever  occurs,  we  are  in  its  care,  and  under  its 
guidance. 

"  1  have  learned  with  great  pleasure  that  you  are  so  happily 
situated  in  London " 

"  Happily  situated  !"  thought  Gerald,  as  he  read  the  above 
paragraph ;  "  he  wouldn't  say  so  if  he  knew  how  I  detest  stick 
ing  day  after  day  in  this  dull  shop."  But  he  read  on. 

"  I  am  also  glad  to  hear  that  your  mother,  and  yourself  and 
all  my  kind  friends  in  Herrington  were  well  at  the  date  of 
the  writing.  My  earnest  hope,  and  that  of  your  aunt  and 
cousins,  is,  that  you  still  remain  so. 

"  We  are  very  comfortable  here.     It  is  a  delightful  place  to 


160  THE    WANDERER. 

reside  in.  If  we  had  only  our  friends  in  England  with  us,  we 
should  be  quite  contented  to  spend  the  remainder  of  our  lives 
here.  We  are  living  in  a  very  pretty  and  commodious  '  bun 
galow,'  (that,  Gerald,  is  the  name  they  give  to  what  you 
would  term  a  villa  in  England.)  Our  place  is  about  three 
miles  from  the  city  of  Columbo.  I  am  at  the  head  of  a  Gov 
ernment  school  establishment,  and  I  have  about  two  hundred 
native  children,  boys  and  girls,  to  instruct.  Of  course,  I  am 
assisted  by  several  teachers,  only  two  of  whom  are  English ; 
the  others  are  native  Cingalese;  but  they  make  excellent 
instructors,  and  the  children  are,  generally  speaking,  very  apt 
and  docile.  All  are,  at  least  nominally,  Christians.  I  have 
almost  perfectly  mastered  the  Cingalese  language,  which  is  by 
no  means  difficult  to  attain  by  careful  study.  Your  cousins, 
Frederick  and  Henry,  both  speak  it  well  enough  to  converse 
with  ease  with  the  natives,  though  many  of  these  speak  Eng 
lish  intelligibly,  and  all  the  children  in  the  school  learn  Eng 
lish.  Your  aunt,  however,  does  not  succeed  at  all  in  acquiring 
the  Cingalese  language,  and  she  has  consequently  great  diffi 
culty  in  managing  the  servants. 

"  By  the  way,  speaking  of  Frederick  and  Henry — they  are 
grown  to  be  quite  young  men  now — I  must  tell  you  that  they 
have  become  quite  adepts  at  hunting,  not  hares  and  rabbits, 
and  foxes,  and  the  small  game  you  hunt  in  England,  but  elks 
and  wild  boars,  with  which  the  country  abounds.  Frederick 
has  been  once  at  an  elephant  hunt,  and  though  the  sport  is 
somewhat  dangerous,  he  was  highly  delighted  with  the  excur 
sion,  which  enabled  him  to  see  a  great  deal  of  the  beautiful 
country.  I  have  a  promise  from  the  bishop  to  procure  Fred 
erick,  who  has  been  studying  medicine  out  here,  an  appoint 
ment  as  assistant  surgeon  on  board  one  of  the  East  India  Corn 
pany's  cruisers.  He  is  delighted  with  the  prospect.  Henry 
assists  me  in  the  school.  The  girls  are  quite  well,  and  growing 
nicely.  All  your  cousins,  with  their  mother,  unite  with  me  in 
sending  you  the  kindest  regards.  I  must  not  forget  to  inform 


A    LETTER   FROM  CEYLON.  161 

you  that  you  have  two  other  cousins,  twins,  both  girls,  born 
since  we  have  lived  here.  My  little  Cingalese  pets,  I  call 
them." 

Gerald  could  not  forbear  a  smile  as  he  thought  how  the 
very  few  little  disagreements  that  used  to  occur  between  his 
uncle  and  aunt  were  generally  on  account  of  his  aunt's  jealousy 
respecting  the  first  pair  of  twins.  But  since  now  their  circum 
stances  appeared  changed  for  the  better,  he  thought,  perhaps, 
the  cause  of  that  needless  jealousy  on  the  part  of  his  aunt  was 
removed,  and  again  he  resumed  his  reading. 

u  One  subject  mentioned  in  Mr.  Pearce's  letter  pained  me 
and  all  of  us  sadly.  You,  of  course,  know  that  I  allude  to  the 
disappearance  of  poor  little  Alice.  Mr.  Pearce  wrote  me  the 
particulars,  and  spoke  of  a  gentleman  who  is  suspected  to  have 
been  in  some  mysterious  way  instrumental  in  her  abduction. 
That  gentleman  was  a  Mr.  Craddock. 

"  He  never  directly  told  me  so,  and  yet  I  have  some  reason 
to  believe  that  he  has  been  an  officer  in  the  Indian  army.  He 
has  friends  or  relations  in  the  United  States  or  Canada,  and 
talked  of  visiting  them  after  he  had  visited  England.  He 
spoke  several  times  of  Mr.  Thornton,  Alice's  father,  my  old 
college  chum  at  Hackney,  and  said  he  had  known  him  as  a 
boy,  and  had  been  much  attached  to  him,  but  having  quitted 
England  for  America  at  an  early  age,  and  subsequently  re 
sided  in  India,  they  had  never  met  after  their  schoolboy  days. 
He  knew,  however,  that  poor  Thornton  had  married,  and  that 
his  wife  had  died :  also,  that  he  had  left  a  daughter  in  my 
charge. 

"  He  had  seen  my  name  mentioned  as  having  been  appointed 
to  this  school,  in  one  of  the  Calcutta  newspapers,  and  that,  he 
said,  was  the  reason  that  he  visited  Ceylon  before  he  returned 
to  England.  He  thought  that  the  daughter  of  his  old  school 
fellow  might  perhaps  have  come  to  Ceylon  with  my  family, 
and  he  much  wished  to  see  her.  He  made  many  enquiries  re 
specting  her,  and  that  was  the  way  I  came  to  give  him  a  letter 


162  THE    WANDERER. 

of  introduction  to  Mr.  Pearce.  I  thought  he  might  wish  to 
serve  poor  little  Alice,  and  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  he 
was  a  man  of  considerable  wealth.  In  manners  and  appear 
ance,  he  was  thoroughly  a  gentleman,  and  a  man  apparently 
of  education  and  of  great  intelligence.  He  had  evidently  trav 
elled  much,  and  talked,  after  visiting  America,  of  returning 
again  to  the  East  Indies.  I  had  some  suspicion  that  he  was  a 
relative  of  Alice's,  and  once  I  asked  him  the  question. 

"  He  replied  evasively,  and  I  made  no  further  inquiry. 
These  several  circumstances  lead  me  strongly  to  suspect  that 
he  is  in  fact  privy  to  Alice's  disappearance,  and  that  the  poor 
child  did  not  meet  with  any  fatal  accident,  as  Mr.  Pearce  par 
tially  hints  might  have  been  the  case.  I  trust  it  is  so,  and 
that  we  shall  hear  of  our  dear  little  girl  again,  for  I  do  not 
think,  from  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Craddock,  that  he  is  a  man 
who  would  harm  the  child.  There  is  some  mystery  in  the 
matter  which  time  will  perhaps  disclose.  Let  us  hope,  at  least, 
that  it  will. 

"  I  have  written  Mr.  Pearce  more  fully  in  relation  to  these 
matters.  He  asked  for  some  information  regarding  Mr.  Thorn 
ton.  I  have  none  to  furnish  him  with  beyond  the  facts  I  have 
already  stated  to  you.  I  don't  think  poor  Thornton  had  any 
relations  in  England.  His  wife  was  a  Spanish  lady  from  the 
island  of  Cuba,  and  she  died  shortly  after  Alice  was  born,  and 
poor  Thornton,  who  died  when  Alice  was  only  three  years 
old,  left  her,  on  his  death-bed,  to  my  care.  1  promised  him 
faithfully  that  she  should  be  to  me  as  a  daughter,  and  I  feel 
that  I  am  to  blame  in  having  parted  with  her,  although  under 
the  circumstances  it  was  unavoidable. 

"  Let  me  hope,  however,  that  when  next  I  hear  from  you, 
you  may  have  heard  some  good  tidings  of  the  dear  lost  one,  or 
that  she  has  been  restored  to  you  ;  that  hope  is  all  that  is  left. 

"  I  have  written  you  a  long  letter,  my  dear  nephew,  and 
must  now  close.  I  have  been  writing  to  your  mother,  and  Mr. 
Pearce  and  yourself,  the  greater  portion  of  this  day. 


RUMINATIONS.  163 

"  God  bless  you,  Gerald.  I  could  wish  that  you  and  your 
mother  were  out  here  with  us.  You  are  doubtless  contented 
at  home  ;  but  there  are  opportunities  out  here  for  young  men, 
far  superior  to  those  to  be  found  in  England,  especially  if  they 
have  no  patronage  to  advance  their  interests. 
"  Believe  me  ever, 

"  Your  affectionate  uncle, 

"  WILLIAM  ASHLEY." 

Gerald  read  this  letter  amid  a  variety  of  conflicting  feelings. 
He  was  glad  to  hear  that  his  uncle  and  the  family  were  so 
happily  situated  in  their  far  off  home  in  the  Cinnamon  Isle  : 
but  it  was  withMmpatient  regret  that  he  read  that  portion  of 
the  letter  which  alluded  to  his  supposed  happiness  and  content 
ment  in  England.  He  heard  with  feelings  akin  to  jealousy  of 
his  cousin's  promised  appointment  in  the  East  India  Company's 
navy,  and  it  was  with  deep  sorrow,  not  however  unmixed  with 
hope,  that  he  read  the  part  which  alluded  to  Alice  Thornton. 
But  the  information  respecting  Mr.  Craddock,  while  it  dis 
abused  his  mind  of  the  suspicions  he  had  partially  entertained, 
that  some  dreadful  accident  had  befallen  her,' seemed  to  render 
her  disappearance  a  matter  of  greater  mystery  than  ever.  He 
now  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  she  had  been  carried  away 
by  Mr.  Craddock  ;  but  why  the  affair  had  been  effected  so  se 
cretly  ;  why  Alice  had  not  come  home  and  informed  her 
friends  ;  or  rather  why  Mr.  Craddock  had  not  done  so,  and 
given  some  reason  for  his  strange  action  towards  her,  was  a 
mystery  he  could  not  fathom.  Again,  the  letter  gave  no  clue 
whatever  to  the  whereabouts  of  Mr.  Craddock.  He  might  be 
in  Canada,  or  the  United  States,  or  perhaps  in  Cuba,  or  he 
might  have  returned  to  the  East  Indies  ! 

Poor  Gerald  !  he  was  more  in  a  maze,  and  more  discontent 
ed  and  wretched  than  ever. 

At  length  a  gleam  of  hope  shed  its  bright  rays  over  his 
prospects.     Mr.  Hoffmann,  who  was  really  greatly  attached  to 


164  THE    WANDERER. 

the  youth,  was  well  aware,  although  Gerald  had  never  com 
plained  ia  his  hearing  and  had  always  striven  to  appear  cheer 
ful  and  contented,  that  he  longed  for  some  more  active  em 
ployment.  Mr.  Hoffmann  was,  as  the  reader  is  well  aware,  a 
somewhat  eccentric  individual.  One  of  his  characteristics  was 
that  he  never  appeared  to  take  any  active  interest  in  any  one. 
He  blamed  severely  when  blame  was  merited,  but  it  was  a 
maxim  with  him  never  to  praise  any  one  for  doing  their  duty. 
That  he  considered  every  body  was  bound  to  do,  and  although 
he  had  written  to  Mr.  Pearce  in  high  terms  of  Gerald's  con 
duct,  the  only  means  the  young  man  possessed  of  knowing  that 
his  employer  was  satisfied  with  his  behavior,  beyond  what  the 
vicar  had  intimated  to  him  was,  that  he  seldom  or  never  found 
fault  with  him. 

He  had  some  strange  speculative  fancies,  and  was  forever 
contriving  some  novel  scheme  to  advance  his  fortunes,  and 
it  was  a  singular  proof  of  his  tact  and  foresight  that  amidst  the 
multiplicity  of  his  business  he  rarely  failed  in  anything  he  un 
dertook. 

One  evening  about  three  months  after  Gerald  had  received 
the  letter  from  his  uncle,  just  as  he  had  put  up  the  shutters 
and  was  about  closing  the  shop  for  the  night,  Mr.  Hoffmann 
told  him  that  he  wished  to  see  him  in  his  library,  an  old  fash 
ioned  apartment,  which  he  dignified  by  that  name,  and  in 
which  he  had  collected,  as  a  stranger  would  have  thought,  all 
the  old,  odd  volumes  that  he  could  pick  up  at  the  old  book 
stores,  or  in  the  auction  rooms  of  London. 

Gerald  promised  to  attend,  and  a  few  minutes  after,  won 
dering  what  could  be  the  cause  of  the  unwonted  summons,  he 
went  up  stairs  to  the  apartment,  and  tapping  at  the  door  was 
requested  to  come  in. 

Mr.  Hoffmann  was  seated  at  a  table  with  an  old  lamp  before 
him,  a  relic  of  ancient  times  that  he  had  picked  up  somewhere 
in  the  course  of  his  perigrinations,  and  which  might  have  been 
manufactured  for  some  monkish  cloister  in  the  Middle  Ages. 


A    GLEAM    OF    HOPE.  165 

He  was  busily  examining  a  file  of  papers,  seemingly  accounts  of 
sales  and  similar  documents. 

"  Ah  !  it's  you  1  take  a  seat,  Gerald,"  he  said,  as  the  young 
man  entered. 

Gerald  did  as  he  was  requested.  -For  some  minutes  the 
old  gentleman  continued  his  examination  of  the  file  of  papers; 
then  folding  them  up  methodically,  arid  carefully  laying  them 
aside,  he  said  bluntly,  "  Gerald,  you  are  not  satisfied  with  your 
situation  here." 

"  Really,  sir,"  stammered  the  young  man,  "  I-I-I — " 

f;  Don't  prevaricate,  sir  ;  there  is  nothing  I  detest  so  much 
as  prevarication,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  Above  all  things 
I  like  candor.  1  have  observed  for  a  long  time  past,  nay,  1  may 
say,  ever  since  the  first  year  that  you  came  here,  that  the  situa 
tion  you  hold  in  my  employ  is  one  that  is  distasteful  to  you." 

"  I  could  certainly  wish  for  some  more  active  employment, 
sir,"  said  Gerald  ;  "  I  could  wish  also  for  some  employment  in 
which  I  could  do  something  for  my  mother ;  but  I  can  con 
scientiously  say  that  since  I  have  been  in  your  employ  I  have 
done  my  duty  as  far  as  lay  in  my  power." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  you  have  done 
your  duty,  and  it  was  your  duty  to  do  it.  I  have  no  fault  to 
find  with  you  for  that,  neither  do  you  deserve  any  praise  for 
it.  We  are  all  sent  into  the  world  to  do  our  duty  towards 
each  other — you  have  done  yours  towards  me  ;  it  is  now  my 
turn  to  do  mine  towards  you." 

Gerald  sat  silent,  not  knowing  indeed  how  to  reply,  and 
greatly  wondering  what  the  old  gentleman  meant. 

Mr.  Hoffmann  continued  : — 

"  I  say  it  is  now  my  turn  to  do  my  duty  towards  you.  You 
are  quite  right  in  wishing  to  assist  your  mother  now,  at  your 
time  of  life.  That  is  a  very  material  part  of  your  duty  ;  you 
might  have  done  so  before — I  might  have  put  you  in  the  way 
of  doing  so,  but  to  no  good  purpose  while  you  were  so  young. 
You  never  would  have  got  forward  in  the  world  if  you  had 
been  left  to  yourself  at  too  early  an  age. 


166  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Now  you  have  been  thoroughly  trained  in  my  shop.  You 
have  had  to  stick  close  to  a  business  that  you  did  not  fancy, 
and  to  bear  confinement,  because  as  a  boy  who  had  his  own 
fortune  to  carve  out  in  the  world,  it  was  your  duty  to  bear  with 
that  which  was  distasteful  to  you,  if  by  so  doing  you  could 
serve  the  interests  of  your  employers  and  gain  friends  that 
might  be  of  service  to  you  thereafter." 

"  I  am  grateful  for  the  good  opinion  you  have  of  me,  sir," 
said  Gerald. 

"I  did  not  say  that  I  had  any  special  good  opinion  of  you," 
continued  the  old  gentleman.  "You  have  done  your  duty  so 
far,  and  I  hope  you  will  continue  to  do  it  as  faithfully  through- 
oat  your  life.  You  want  more  active  employment,  and  if  I 
don't  mistake  you  will  have  no  objection  to  see  a  little  of  the 
v  orld  outside  of  smoky  London.  I  want  the  services  of  an 
active,  trustworthy  young  man  to  go  abroad.  Are  you  willing 
to  accept  the  offer  I  am  about  to  make  to  you  1  If  so,  the  mat- 
tor  is  settled." 

Gerald's  heart  leaped  to  his  throat  at  the  idea  of  going 
abroad,  whither,  he  cared  little.  He  thought  of  his  mother  "at 
Abbottsford ;  but  then  he  recollected  that  she  had  promised  fis> 
give  her  consent,  should  he  at  any  time  meet  with  a  situation 
of  responsibility  and  trust. 

"  I  think  I  am  willing  and  ready  to  accept  any  offer  you  may 
make  me,  sir,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  you  have  not  yet  told  me 
what  it  is  you  have  in  view." 

"  No  !  to  be  sure.  I  have  not.  I  was  forgetting  my  duty, 
young  man,  in  hurrying  on  so  fast.  Well,  then,  the  matter  I 
have  in  view  is  this.  I  have,  as  you  know,  a  large  collection  of 
old  and  valuable  engravings  and  paintings,  and  a  variety  of 
knick  knacks  of  various  descriptions,  which  I  have  been  inform 
ed  will  sell  to  great  advantage  in  the  East  Indies,  where  there 
is  a  demand  now  for  such  things.  I  was  thinking  of  sending 
them  there.  My  friend,  Mr.  Grimsby,  the  tobacconist,  also 
has  been  talking  to  me  about  the  feasibility  of  establishing  an 


A    GLEAM    OF    HOPE.  16t 

agency  in  Calcutta  for  the  sale  of  his  celebrated  eye  snuff. 
You  know  he  has  agencies  in  almost  every  part  of  the  world. 
I  have  spoken  to  him  concerning  you,  and  he  is  desirous  of 
entrusting  you  with  the  task.  Another  friend  of  mine  is  also 
about  to  send  a  large  quantity  of  hardware  to  the  East  Indies, 
and  [  have  talked  with  several  gentlemen  besides  who  are  send 
ing  goods  out  in  the  same  ship,  about  employing  you  as  super 
cargo.  Would  you  like  to  undertake  the  responsibility'?" 

"I  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful,"  replied  Gerald,  who 
was  quite  elated  at  the  prospect  opened  to  him. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  gratefnl  for,"  returned  the  old  gen 
tleman.  "  You  have  a  certain  duty  entrusted  to  you,  and  you 
will  oblige  us  in  doing  it  properly,  to  the  best  of  your  ability,  as 
we  shall  oblige  you  by  sending  you  out  in  charge  of  our  goods." 

"I  shall  certainly  do  all  that  lies  in  my  power  to  serve  you," 
said  Gerald,  "  and  I  most  cheerfully  accept  your  offer." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "we will  consider  the 
matter  settled.  I  knew  very  well,  beforehand,  that  you  would 
jump  at  the  offer,  and  engaged  another  shopman  in  your  place. 
You  can  run  down  to  Abbottsford  and  see  your  mother,  if  you 
like.  Start  to-morrow  if  you  can  get  ready.  The  ship  sails 
in  three  weeks;  you  must  be  back  in  a  fortnight  from  to-mor 
row,  and  then  direct  all  your  attention  to  your  new  duties." 

Gerald  assured  the  old  gentleman  that  he  should  be  ready  to 
start  for  Abbottsford  on  the  following  morning,  and  thus  be 
the  bearer  in  his  own  person,  to  his  mother,  of  his  rising  pros 
pects  ;  and  Mr.  Hoffmann,  considering  in  his  off-hand  way  that 
all  the  preliminaries  had  been  settled,  closed  the  interview. 

Gerald  retired  to  his  room ;  but  not  to  sleep.  His  thoughts 
were  too  much  occupied  with  the  prospect,  so  long  and  so 
earnestly  desired,  that  had  now  so  strangely  opened  to  him  ; 
bright  visions  of  the  future  passed  rapidly  before  him,  while  at 
the  same  time  thoughts  of  his  mother  and  of  the  way  in  which 
she  would  receive  the,  to  him,  gratifying  intelligence,  would 
recur  to  his  mind ;  but  he  flattered  himself  that  the  first  regret 
over,  she  would  rejoice  with  him  over  his  good  fortune. 


168  THE    WANDERER. 

It  ws  far  in  the  night  ere  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  then  he 
dreamed  of  startling  and  perilous  adventures  in  the  East ;  of 
Vishnoo  and  Bramah,  and  the  Car  of  Juggernaut,  and  Hindoo 
temples  and  cinnamon  groves  ;  and  of  all  the  marvels  of  the 
"Arabian  Nights,"  and  of  tiger  and  elephant  hunts  in  Ceylon, 
and  of  all  he  had  read  or  heard  of  the  land  of  gorgeous  ro 
mance — the  rich  and  gorgeous  land  of  the  East.  And  yet 
when  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  so  restless  had  been  his  slum 
bers,  that  it  still  wanted  an  hour  to  his  usual  time  of  rising. 

He  sprang  from  his  bed  and  commenced  to  make  prepara 
tions  for  his  journey  to  Abbottsford.  He  was  soon  ready,  and 
after  having  partaken  of  a  hasty  breakfast,  he  bade  a  temporary 
farewell  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hoffmann,  and  with  a  light  heart 
walked  to  the  coach  office  and  was  soon  being  borne  towards 
Huntingdonshire  as  rapidly  as  four  horses  could  carry  him. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  he  reached  St.  Ives,  from 
which  place  he  had  to  walk  the  distance  of  two  miles  to 
Abbottsford,  at  which  place  he  arrived  just  as  Mrs.  Dalton 
was  preparing  to  retire  to  rest.  She  was  overjoyed  to  see  her 
son.  The  visit  was  of  course  quite  unexpected,  and  after  the 
first  mutual  congratulations  were  over,  Gerald  lost  no  time  in 
acquainting  her  with  the  object  of  his  visit,  and  of  his  antici 
pated  departure  for  India.  Sorely  as  Mrs.  Dalton  grieved  at 
the  idea  of  his  leaving  her,  and  tempting  the  dangers  of  the  sea 
and  the  perils  of  a  foreign  clime — dangers  and  perils  much 
exaggerated  by  her  too  vivid  imagination — she  had  too  much 
good  sense  to  raise  any  objections  to  a  course  which  promised 
to  be  of  so  much  advantage  to  her  son,  and  indeed  to  her  also, 
for  Mr.  Hoffmann,  before  Gerald's  departure  in  the  morning, 
had  informed  him  that  his  salary  would  be  liberal,  so  she 
gladly  yet  tearfully  gave  her  full  consent.  Long  after  the 
widow's  usual  hour  of  retiring,  did  she  and  Gerald  sit  in  earn 
est  conversation  that  night,  and  the  hour  of  midnight  had 
passed  away  before  the  widow  and  her  son  retired  to  rest. 

On  the  following  morning,  Gerald  wrote  to  his  friend  the 


RISING    PROSPECTS.  169 

Vicar  of  Herrington,  and  to  Dr.  Knight,  to  inform  them 
of  his  good  fortune;  and  he  also  wrote  a  few  lines  to  his 
old  friend  and  companion,  Jemmy  Milton,  whom  he  was  well 
aware  would  be  as  happy  to  hear  of  his  rising  prospects,  and 
especially  that  he  was  going  to  see  the  world — a  favorite  ex 
pression  of  the  old  fisherman's — as  was  he  himself. 

Letters  in  reply  were  duly  received  from  Dr.  Knight  and 
the  Vicar,  congratulating  the  young  man  on  his  prospects,  and 
also  a  letter  from  Jemmy  Milton  ;  but  this  last  being  a  curi 
osity  in  its  way,  shall  occupy  a  place  in  the  following  chapter. 


170  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Jemmy  Milton  gives  Gerald  some  good  advice  in  a  letter.— And  Gerald 
takes  possession  of  an  invoice  of  rare  and  curious  merchandise,  to  do  the 
best  he  can  therewith. 

JEMMY  MILTON'S  letter  was  written  on  a  sheet  of  superfine 
Bath  post-paper,  gilt-edged  ;  but  the  glories  of  the  white  smooth 
sheet  were  somewhat  dimmed  by  the  awkward,  square  method 
which  had  been  adopted  in  folding  it,  and  by  the  sprawling  seal 
of  pitch,  stamped  with  a  thumb  mark ;  nevertheless,  it  was 
with  no  little  gratification  that  Gerald  received  this  proof  of 
his  old  favorite's  regard  for  him,  for  he  knew  that  nothing  but 
the  strongest  feeling  of  friendship  could  have  put  the  idea  of 
sending  a  letter  into  Jemmy's  head. 

The  letter  was  not  dated.  Jemmy  probably  did  not  think 
it  worth  while  to  bother  himself  with  such  trifling  convention 
alities  as  dates,  but  commenced  at  once  in  the  most  approved 
and  time-honored  style  of  syntax,  to  wit : 

"DEAR  GERA.LD  : 

"  This  comes  hopping  to  find  you  wel],  as  it  leaves  me  at 
present.  I  have  got  a  chum,  Tom  Fletcher,  as  you  are  ac 
quainted  with,  seeing  as  you've  often  met  him  in  the  boat- 
house  'long  o'  me,  to  write  this  here  letter,  cos  it's  so  long 
since  I  tuk  a  pen  in  my  hands,  never  since  I  lamed  down 
strokes  and  hooks  and  hangers  at  dame's  school,  that  writing 
Jud  come  arkard  to  me  now ;  besides,  my  fingers  is  grow'd  too 
stiff;  but  Tom  can  write  like  schoolmaster.  He  would  make  me 
put  this  in,  thof  I  didn't  want  to,  Master  Gerald.  I  heered  yes- 


A    LETTER    FROM    HERRINGTON.  Ill 

terday  from  Mr.  Pearce,  who  I  met  a  walking  on  the  pier,  as 
how  you  was  a  going  to  the  Injees  to  seek  your  fortin.  Good 
luck  to  you,  my  boy,  and  I  hope  you'll  find  it,  as  I  ain't  got  no 
doubt  as  you  will,  if  you  seeks  it  arter  the  right  fashion,  and 
follers  the  advice  as  you've  had  larnt  you  by  the  vicar,  and 
your  mother  and  me.  Jemmy  don't  know  whew  Injee  js,  see 
ing  that  he  has  never  been  there*  any  more  than  me  ;  but  it's 
a  long  way  off,  no  doubt — maybe  in  China — may  be  'tother 
side  of  'Merrica  ;  but  wheresomever  it  be,  I  know  as  it's  a 
mighty  fine  place,  full  of  goold,  diamonds  and  precious  stones, 
for  we've  read  that  'ere  in  a  book  called  '  Tales  of  Genius  ;'* 
but  there's  rocks,  and  shoals  and  quicksands  to  be  met  with 
on  the  way,  and  many  a  fine  lad's  been  wrecked  on  'em  for 
want  o'  keeping  a  bright  look  out.  Above  all,  Gerald,  my  boy> 
don't  be  tempted  by  the  marmaids ;  you've  come  to  an  age, 
now,  when  you're  like  to  be  'tacted  by  the  syringes  ;f  avoid 
'em,  boy  ;  take  an  old  man's  advice  and  give  'em  a  wide  berth, 
as  a  good  skipper  would  a  lee  shore  on  a  dark  night,  though 
there's  syringes  on  shore  as  well  as  at  sea.  They  are  the 
strange  women  that  King  Soloman  speaks  on  in  the  Book  of 
Proverbs,  who  have  cast  down  many  wounded,  and  I  have  seen 
many  strong  men  slain  by  'em.  Sarch  the  Scripturs  for  that 
'ere  text,  Gerald,  my  boy.  When  you  gets  to  Injee,  maybe 
you'll  larn  summat  of  poor  little  Alice.  The  vicar  tells  me  as 
how  Mr.  Ashley  ain't  seed  nought  on  her,  and  don't  know  the 
genelman  in  black  as  tuk  her  away.  In  old  times  there  used  to 
live  lots  o'  giants  and  ogres,  and  wizards  as  used  to  run  away 
with  beautiful  maids  and  keep  'em  in  captivity  till  some  ad 
venturous  knight  like  Jack  the  Giant  Killer  or  King  Arthur  of 
the  Round  Table  conquered  'em  and  restored  the  maiden  to  her 
friends,  when  in  coorse  the  gallant  knight  married  the  lady, 
and  they  had  a  rcglar  jolly  time  on't.  I've  read  that  'ere  in 
books  as  long  ago  as  I  can  recollect,  and  I  oncet  had  a  book  as 

*  "  Tales  of  the  Genii,"  I  presume  the  old  man  meant. 
f  "  Sirens,"  probably. 


172  THE    WANDERER. 

told  how  there  was  lashions  of  these  ogres  in  Injee.  Maybe 
the  breed  ain't  all  dead  yet.  and  it's  resarved  for  you  to  de 
liver  Alice  from  the  enchanter.  I'm  thinkin'  you  won't  mind 
the  penalty  of  splicing  the  lass  for  your  trouble.  Jemmy  Mil 
ton  wishes  me  to  present  his  best  respects  to  your  mother, 
and  I'm  glad  to  larn  from  the  vicar  that  she  is  so  nicely  bet- 
tied  in  Abbottsford,  where  the  vicar  says  she  is  gone  to. 

"  Mayhap  you'd  like  to  hear  some'at  about  the  old  place, 
seeing  it'll  p'raps  be  many  years  afore  you  see  it  agin — and 
then  I  and  Tom,  too,  will  p'raps  have  shipped  on  our  last  v'yage  to 
etarnity.  Last  Monday  was  quarter  day,  and  as  usual  we  had 
a  jolly  time  arter  I  drew  my  quarter's  pay  from  my  brother, 
the  deacon,  and  what  d'ye  think,  Gerald ;  they  got  up  a  sur 
prise  for  me  while  I  was  gone  up  to  get  the  rhino.  I  knows 
as  how  Tom  Fletcher  was  at  the  head  of  it.  Cos  it's  just  like 
him.  I  was'nt  though  ;  it  was  a  reglar  round  robin  among  us 
all ;  but  Jemmy  will  have  it  so,  and  insists  upon  my  writing  it 
down.  He'll  spell  through  the  letter  arterards,  so  in  it  goes: 
they'd  been  and  guv  the  old  boat-house  a  fresh  coat  of  coal  tar, 
and  painted  the  door  and  winder  frames  green,  and  put  in  a 
new  bench  and  two  new  stools.  I  hardly  know'd  the  old  place 
agin,  it  looked  so  comfortable  and  cosy,  and  Tom  Fletcher 
stood  a  keg  of  hollands  hisself— I  did  ;  that's  true  ;  and  didn't 
we  have  a  merry  night  on't !  We  got  so  happy  talkin  of  old 
times ;  and  you  was'nt  forgotten,  Gerald,  nor  your  uncle,  nor 
your  mother,  that  it  being  late  afore  the  keg's  was  empty,  we 
reckoned  as  we  would'nt  go  home  till  morning,  and  so  we  slept 
in  the  boat-house,  and  when  we  woke  up  in  the  morning,  we 
was  all  lay  in  under  the  table  and  about  the  floor,  in  all  sorts 
o'  rum  attitoodes.  Gerald,  my  boy,  let  me  give  you  one  more 
piece  of  advice,  in  which  Tom  Fletcher  jines — so  I  do,  with  all 
my  heart :  don't  give  way  to  drink  when  you  gets  to  Injce ; 
I'm  told  they  drinks  awful  there,  and  poisons  theirselves  with 
liquor  and  then  lays  it  to  the  climate ;  recollect  the  yarn  I 
oncet  told  you,  that  had  the  moral  at  the  tail  end  on't,  you  know. 


A    REACTION.  173 

My  brother,  the  deacon,  is  a  growin'  more  miserly  than  ever. 
He  half  starves  hisself  so  as  to  save  his  money  ;  though  what 
he's  agoin'  to  do  with  it  I  don't  know,  since  when  he  dies  he 
hain't  got  chick  nor  child  to  leave  it  to.  God  bless  you,  Gerald  ; 
and  pilot  you  safe  over  the  stormy  ocean  and  bring  you  safe 
back  home  agin — so  no  more  at  present  from  your  old  friend, 
JEMMY  MILTON,  x  his  mark. 

TOM  FLETCHER." 

Gerald  was  much  amused  with  this  letter,  although  he  found 
some  difficulty  in  deciphering  it,  as  much  on  account  of  the  false 
orthography  as  from  the  ambiguous  phraseology.  He  wrote 
a  reply,  assuring  the  old  man  that  he  should  strive  not  to  for 
get  him  nor  his  teachings,  and  should  take  especial  care  to  avoid 
being  seduced  by  the  siren  voices  of  the  mermaids  he  might 
fall  in  with  on  his  voyage.  He  also  replied  to  the  letters  he 
had  received  from  his  other  friends  at  Herrington,  and  wrote  to 
his  uncle  informing  him  that  he  was  about  to  visit  the  East 
Indies,  and  as  it  was  optionable  with  him  to  return  home  on 
board  any  vessel  he  pleased — if  he  found  that  it  wouldn't  occupy 
too  much  of  his  time,  he  should  visit  Columbo. 

Time,  on  the  occasion  of  such  a  visit  as  this  that  Gerald  had 
paid  his  mother,  always  flies  swiftly  :  the  fortnight  soon  ex 
pired,  and  greatly  to  his  mother's  grief,  though  she  strove  to 
hide  it,  and  indeed  to  his  own  deep  regret  when  the  hour  of 
parting  came,  Gerald  returned  to  London. 

On  his  arrival  at  Broad  street,  he  discovered  that,  as  is  usual 
ly  the  case,  the  vessel  would  not  sail  at  the  time  appointed,  and 
that  it  would  be  at  least  three  weeks  before  her  lading  would 
be  completed.  However,  this  was  little  time  enough  for  him 
to  make  himself  acquainted  with  the  duties  that  would  be  re 
quired  of  him,  of  which,  to  say  the  truth,  he  knew  very  little. 

Just  at  this  time,  the  East  India  Company  had  opened  a  new 
territory,  as  they  had  often  done  before,  have  done  since,  and 
will  do  again,  so  long  as  an  inch  of  ground  remains  in  the  pos- 


174  THE    WANDERER. 

session  of  the  Native  Rajahs.  Joshua  was  the  first  filibuster 
on  record,  who  felt  himself  constrained  to  fulfil  a  "  manifest 
destiny  ;"  but  he  has  been  improved  upon  since,  and  by  none 
of  his  imitators  with  greater  effect  than  by  the  Honorable  East 
India  Company,  which  is  perpetually  finding  itself  called  upon 
to  conquer  the  natives  surrounding  its  broad  lands,  and  teach 
them  the  blessings  of  civilization  and  religion,  thereby  adding 
by  this  good  work  greatly  to  its  own  influence,  wealth  and  pros 
perity. 

There  had  been  a  time  of  severe  commercial  distress  in 
India,  but  the  crisis  had  passed  away,  and  with  the  acquisition 
of  new  territory  a  reaction  had  taken  place,  and  speculation 
was  rife.  The  mania  had  reached  England,  and  merchants  and 
tradesmen  of  every  class  were  looking  towards  the  East,  with 
all  the  eagerness  that  in  later  years  they  have  looked  towards 
California  and  South  Australia.  Every  body  who  had  any 
business  that  could  be  extended  abroad,  was  sending  goods  and 
establishing  agencies  in  India. 

Mr.  Hoffmann,  like  most  London  tradesmen,  belonged  to  a 
club,  composed  of  tradesmen  like  himself,  or  rather  he  and  a 
dozen  others  of  his  class  were  accustomed  to  meet  together 
nightly  in  the  back  parlor  of  a  snug  public  house,  and  there  to 
talk  over  business  and  politics,  while  they  smoked  their  pipes 
and  sipped  their  hot  brandy  and  water. 

Naturally  enough,  a  short  time  before  Mr.  Hoffmann  had 
spoken  to  Gerald  relative  to  going  abroad,  the  conversation  at 
one  of  these  nightly  meetings  had  turned  upon  India,  and  the 
opportunities  that  offered  themselves  of  making  money  there. 

"  I  should'nt  mind  sending  out  a  venture,"  said  one,  laying 
aside  his  long  clay  pipe,  and  looking  solemnly  round  at  the 
company,  "provided  I  knew  how  to  manage  it.  I  should  think 
a  dozen  cases  or  so  of  English  pickles  and  hams,  and  such  like 
articles  would  sell  well  just  now.  The  officers,  you  see,  will 
be  going  with  their  families  to  the  new  territory,  and  they  will 
be  glad  to  purchase  such  luxuries,  and  pay  a  high  price  for  them 
too,  I'll  be  bound." 


THE    CLUB   SMOKING-ROOM.  H5 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  neighbor  Feldwick,  no  doubt  of  it,"  ob 
served  Mr.  Grimsby,  the  celebrated  tobacconist  and  snuff 
manufacturer,  addressing  his  friend  who  had  first  spoken,  who 
was  in  the  "  Oil  and  Italian"  line.  "  And  1  have  a  great  idea 
that  my  eye  snuff  would  make  me  a  small  fortune,  if  I  could 
establish  an  agency  in  India.  The  Opthalmia,  I  understand,  is 
very  prevalent  in  the  sandy  plains  of  the  East.  I've  had 
serious  thoughts  of  attempting  such  a  thing." 

"  Cheap,  gay  calicoes  ar'e  in  great  request  amongst  the  half 
naked  savages  of  newly  opened  territories,  I  have  been  told," 
chimed  in  a  Manchester  warehouseman.  "  The  market  is  dull 
here  just  now,  and  I  have  several  cases  of  unsaleable  goods  in 
my  warehouse.  I  should'nt  wonder  if  I  made  a  good  job  by 
sending  them  to  India.  Might  perhaps  establish  a  permanent 
trade  there." 

Several  others  spoke  to  a  like  purport.  Mr.  Hoffmann  had 
said  nothing ;  but  he  had  continued  smoking  sagely,  and  was 
thinking  deeply.  He  had  several  boxes  of  copper  plates  of  old 
engravings,  and  books  upon  books  of  old  engravings  taken  from 
the  copper  plates,  which  he  had  picked  up  at  the  sale  of  the 
effects  of  a  virtuoso  several  years  before,  and  these  had  been, 
lying  unsaleable  and  lumbering  up  his  store-rooms  ever  since. 
He  might,  he  thought,  dispose  of  them  in  India.  No  doubt 
the  officers  and  civilians  about  to  establish  themselves  in  the 
new  territory  would  like  to  carry  with  them  reminiscences  of 
the  arts  and  refinements  of  home  :  besides  he  had  many  other 
articles  useless  in  London,  which  might  be  disposed  of  ad 
vantageously  abroad. 

The  whole  party,  having  given  expression  to  these  sentiments, 
sat  for  some  time  smoking  in  solemn  silence.  This  silence  was 
at  length  broken  by  Mr.  Grimsby  : — 

"  I  will,  by  George,"  he  said,  striking  his  fist  upon  the  table, 
with  a  force  that  set  all  the  glasses  ringing. 

"  And  so  will  I,"  said  Mr.  Feldwick,  the  Oil  and  Italian 
warehouseman,  -accompanying  the  assertion  with  a  similar 
forcible  demonstration. 


176  THE    WANDERER. 

"Gentlemen,"  observed  Mr.  Hoffmann — he  was  the  only 
person  present  who  had  not  hitherto  spoken — "  I  should  like  to 
join  you.  We  may  make  up  a  venture  between  us  ;  but  there 
is  one  requisite  that  you  seem  to  have  forgotten/' 

"  What  is  that  ?"  cried  half  a  dozen  at  once. 

"  We  shall  want  somebody  to  look  after  our  joint  stock.  If 
we  ship  it  to  India  without  having  made  this  provision,  among 
the  vast  quantity  of  goods  going  there  just  now  it  will  stand  a 
chance  of  being  overlooked  ;  at  any  "rate  it  is  not  likely  to  be 
disposed  of  to  advantage.  Besides,  if  any  among  us  think  of 
establishing  agencies  abroad,  some  one  must  be  deputed  to  act 
in  such  transactions." 

"  To  be  sure  ;  you  are  quite  right,  neighbor  Hoffmann,"  said 
the  tobacconist ;  "  but  who  can  we  get.  Do  you  know  of  any 
suitable  person  ?  A  young  man,  for  instance,  who  will  under 
take  the  duties  of  a  supercargo,  cheap  V 

"  I  think  I  do,"  returned  Mr.  Hoffmann.  "  You  know  my 
young  man,  Gerald  Dalton,  friend  Grimsby?  The  lad  has  a 
great  desire  to  go  abroad,  and  he  is  a  good  lad,  and  may  be 
trusted." 

"  And  he  will  be  reasonable  as  to  salary  1"  said  Mr.  Grimsby. 

"  Yes,  perfectly  so.  We  will  give  him  a  small  commission 
on  the  sales,  and  a  trifle  of  salary  besides.  What  do  you  say 
gentlemen,  to  our  clubbing  a  venture,  and  sending  Gerald  out 
with  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Hoffmann,  addressing  his  friends  around 
the  table,  all  of  whom  had  been  listening  attentively  to  the  con 
versation  that  had  passed  between  him  and  Mr.  Grimsby. 

'"  I  like  the  idea,  for  one,"  said  the  Manchester  warehouse 
man. 

"  And  I,"  said  another,  and  another,  and  before  the  party 
separated  that  night  it  was  arranged  that  each  should  contrib 
ute  a  portion  of  a  common  "venture,"  to  be  placed  under  the 
care  of  Gerald  Dalton,  by  him  to  be  sold  in  the  East  Indies 
to  the  best  advantage. 

In   a  very   few  davs  after  this  arrangement  the  goods  to  be 


A    CONCLUSION   ARRIVED    AT.  H7 

sent  were  picked  out  and  packed,  and  it  having  been  ascer 
tained  that  the  Seringapatam  Indiaman  would  sail  in  a  few 
weeks  for  Calcutta  and  that  she  yet  had  room  for  a  considera 
ble  amount  of  cargo,  sufficient  freight  accommodation  was 
secured  on  board  her ;  and  then  Mr.  Hoffmann,  who  was  well 
aware  that  Gerald  would  be  glad  of  the  opportunity  that 
would  be  thus  afforded  him  of  seeing  the  world,  spoke  to  him 
on  the  subject  in  the  manner  I  have  heretofore  related. 

The  period  that  had  yet  to  elapse  before  the  Indiaman  was 
to  sail,  was  spent  by  Gerald  in  making  himself  acquainted,  as 
far  as  lay  in  his  power,  with  the  nature  of  a  supercargo's  du 
ties.  He  did  not  fear  that  he  would  find  them  very  difficult, 
still  he  had  little  or  no  notion  of  trade,  and  it  was  his  earnest 
desire  to  render  a  satisfactory  account  to  his  employers  on  his 
return. 

It  had  been  settled  that  he  was  to  receive  a  small  per  cent- 
age  on  the  sales  that  should  be  made,  and  a  salary  of  fifty  pounds 
and  his  passage  out  to  India  and  back  again  secured.  Twenty 
pounds  out  of  the  fifty  he  resolved  should  go  to  his  mother  ;  the 
other  thirty  he  would  probably  have  ample  necessity  for  himself. 
In  addition  to  this,  if  he  were  very  successful  in  his  undertak 
ing,  he  was  to  receive  a  bonus,  according  to  the  liberality  of 
his  employers,  at  the  termination  of  the  voyage. 

Twenty  pounds  were  paid  him  in  advance,  to  aid  in  supply 
ing  his  outfit. 

It  was  a  curiously  heterogeneous  collection  of  goods  that  he 
found  himself  in  charge  of  when  the  day  of  shipment  arrived  : 
perhaps  never  supercargo  before  had  been  placed  in  charge  of 
a  more  singular  selection  of  rnarketables,  or  unmarketables, 
as  the  venture  might  prove,  and  the  articles  were  invoiced 
at  almost  fabulous  prices,  so  sanguine  were  the  senders  of  the 
demand  for  goods  of  all  kinds  that  would  exist  in  India. 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  invoice  that  was  presented  to 
the  young  man,  after  the  goods  had  all  been  shipped. 


118  THE    WANDERER. 

From  Mr.  Grimsby  : 

£.  s.  d. 
Six  tin-water  proof  cases  of  eye  snuff,   50  Ibs.  in 

each  case,  7s.  6d.  per  pound.    -     -     -    -    . •    »        112  10 
Value  in  London,  retail  price, -        48 

From  Messrs.  Feldwick  &  Co : 

Five  cwt.  Parmesan  Cheese,  2s.  Cd.  per  pound     -     -  70 
Value  in  London,  retail,     --------      33  10  G 

Fifty  cases  English  pickles  assorted.  6  doz.  in  a  case, 

18s.  per  doz. ---...     270 

Retail  price  in  London,     --------135 

Sundries  in  the  oil  and  Italian  line.     -     -     -     -     -     420 

Retail  London  value,     ---------    300 

From  Mr.  Atkins,  Manchester  warehouseman  : 
Six  boxes  bed  curtain  chintz,  dandylion   and  sun 
flower  pattern,  very  gay  ;  containing  in  all,  one 
hundred  and  twenty  pieces  of  thirty  yards  each, 

£1  10s  per  piece.     --.- 10 

Value  in  Manchester,  wholesale,     -     -     -     -      -     90  10 
Sixty  cases  of  calicoes,  various  large  and  gay  pat 
terns,  each  case  containing  forty  pieces  of  twen 
ty  yards  each,  20s.  per  piece,     ------  2,400 

Value  in  Manchester,     -     - 1,700 

From  Mr.   Dawson,  Ironmonger  and  General 
Dealer  in  Hardware : 

One  bundle  containing  sixty  spades,  5s.  each,  -  -  15 
One  do.  containing  one  hundred  rakes,  4s.  each  -  -  20 
One  do.  containing  one  hundred  hatchets,  5s.  each  -  25 

One  case  clasp,  and  penknives, -     -    1C4  10 

One  do.  hammers,  gimlets,  and  screwdrivers     -      -    67 

Estimated  English  wholesale  value,     -   -   •    -    -    135 

From  Mr.  Dobbs,  Crockery  dealer  : 

Six  crates  assorted  Staffordshire  ware,     -    -    -     -     131 

English  value, 100 


A    RARE    INVOICE    OF    GOODS.  179 

(It  was  rumored  that  English  crockery  and  China 
was  superseding  the  use  of  that  imported  into  India 
from  the  Celestial  Empire.) 

From  Mr.  Hoffmann,  Auctioneer,  Picture  dealer, 

General  Warehouseman,  &c.,  &c. 

Two  Cremona    violins — one    cracked,    the    other 

much  battered,  60  guineas  each. 120 

Inestimably  valuable  to  amateurs.     Useless  to 
professionals.     Unsaleable  in  England. 

Six  banjoes — a  novel  and  delightful  instrument  im 
ported  from  America,  3  guineas  each.     -     -     -     -    18 
Not  yet  introduced  into  musical  circles  in  Eng 
land.     Value  unknown. 

One  suit  of  ancient  armor  complete  all  but  the  vizor, 
in  tolerably  good  preservation.      Supposed  to 
belong  to  the  time  of  Edward  the  Third.     -     -     -    25 
Unsaleable,  having  lain  in  Mr.   Hoffman's  ware- 
rooms  for  twenty  years. 

Six  tin  cases  of  plated  bottle  corks  labelled  "  Sher 
ry,"  "Port,"  "Rum,"   "Brandy,"   "Holland," 
&c.,  &c.,  each  case  containing  twenty  dozen  as 
sorted     -     -     -  -      -     -     120 

Value  in  England  not  generally  known,  as  the 
article  is  old  fashioned. 

Ten  Turkish  Scimeters,  very  old-fashioned  and  cu 
rious,  20s.  each.      ._-_--_---     10 
Unsaleable  in  London,  but  supposed  likely  to 
be  in  demand  in  India. 

One  harpsichord,     ----------      -      60 

Out  of  date  in  England  ;  therefore  unsaleable. 

One  Spinnett -------     5  10 

Out  of  date,  consequently  unsaleable  in  London. 

Three  hundred  and  fifty  old  engravings,  duplicates 
assorted,  from  pictures  by  the  great  masters.  -  -   350 


180  THE    WANDERER 

Very  valuable  to  virtuosos,  but  no  bids  for  sev 
eral  years. 

One  hundred  copperplates  of  said  engravings.    -    -    150 
Battered  and  only  valuable  as  old  copper  in  Lon 
don. 

"  Queer  articles  of  merchandise,  some  of  them,"  muttered 
Gerald  to  himself  as  he  read  over  the  invoice.  "  But  I  sup 
pose  they'll  find  a  ready  sale  in  India,  or  they  wouldn't  send 
them  out.  Let  me  see,"  and  he  cast  up  the  separate  invoices. 
(Of  course  the  estimated  value  in  London  was  not  known  to 
him.)  "  Mr.  Grimsby,  £112  10s.,"  marking  the  amount  down 
in  pencil  on  the  margin  of  the  invoice.  "A  small  venture  that 
of  old  Grimsby 's  ;  but  eye-snuff  enough,  I  should  think,  to 
supply  the  East  Indies  with  the  article  for  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury  ;  but  then  the  old  chap  counts  on  getting  an  agency  for 
the  whole  East  established.  Well,  we'll  see.  What  next  1" 
Again  he  summed  up. 

"  Messrs.  Feldwick  &  Co.,  £760.  That's  something  more 
respectable,  but  a  droll  assortment.  What  the  mischief  can 
they  want  with  so  many  clasp-knives  in  India  1  They  must  be 
quite  out  of  the  article.  Ha  !  Atkins,  £2,580,"  marking  down 
the  amount.  "  That's  something  like.  Then  there's  old  Daw- 
son,  £291  10s.  ;  moderate  again.  And  Dobbs,  £131  ;  still 
more  moderate.  Then  comes  Mr.  Hoffmann.  What's  he 
sent,  I  wonder  1  Good  gracious !"  he  exclaimed,  looking  over 
the  articles  enumerated,  "what  on  earth  will  they  do  with 
them  in  India  1  I  suppose,  though,  it's  all  right — £866  8s. 
That  amounts,  in  toto"  adding  up,  "  to  £4,741  8s.,  and  my  dis 
count,  7  per  cent,  on  the  sales,  provided  I  don't  get  higher 
prices  than  they  are  invoiced  at,  which  I  ought  certainly  to  do, 
will  amount  to  £330,  and  £30  to  receive  when  I  return, 
for  salary,  £360  ;  quite  a  fortune  !  Hurrah  !  Why,  I  shall 
be  a  rich  man  all  at  once.  Won't  I  go  down  to  Abbottsford 
and  make  mother  all  right  ?  And  then,  if  I  should  fall  in  with 
Alice,  or  hear  anything  of  her !  It  would  be  glorious  !" 


REVERIES.  181 

He  sat  for  some  time  thinking  of  the  past  and  dreaming  of 
the  future,  till  suddenly  recollecting  that  it  was  getting  late, 
and  he  had  to  be  up  betimes  in  the  morning  to  meet  Mr.  Hoff 
mann,  and  had  several  letters  to  write  to  his  friends,  as  the 
mail  was  to  leave  Calcutta  on  the  following  Thursday.  (It  was 
now  Monday)  ;  he  rose  from  his  reverie,  and  taking  his  candle, 
retired  to  rest. 


182  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

In  winch  it  is  told  how  Gerald  went  to  India,  and  what  occurred  during 
the  voyage,  and  after  he  arrived  at  Calcutta.  Also  details  of  many  other 
interesting  incidents. 

ALL  was  now  ready  for  sea  on  board  the  Seringapatam  East 
Indiaman.  The  ship  had  hauled  out  of  the  East  India  dock, 
and  lay  in  the  stream  opposite  Blackwall,  awaiting  the  cap 
tain's  return  from  the  city,  and  passengers  and  seamen  were 
hurrying  on  board,  having,  as  is  ever  the  case,  waited  till  the 
last  moment. 

Gerald  had  written  his  last  letters  home,  for  a  long  time,  at 
any  rate,  and  had  requested  that  the  replies  to  these  letters 
might  be  addressed  to  him  at  the  ship's  consignees  at  Calcutta, 
at  the  same  time  promising  himself  to  write  thence.  The  day 
before,  he  had  held  his  parting  interview  with  Mr.  Hoffmann, 
and  was  now  busily  occupied  in  arranging  the  narrow  state 
room  that  he  was  to  occupy  during  the  voyage.  This  was  not 
a  very  difficult  task,  inasmuch  as  there  was  room  for  nothing 
but  a  small  trunk,  besides  the  state-room  furniture,  consisting 
of  a  fixture  bed-place,  a  camp  stool,  and  a  ledge  with  a  hole  in 
it  for  the  reception  of  a  ewer  and  basin :  so  this  task  com 
pleted,  he  went  on  deck  to  escape  the  confusion  in  the  cabin, 
though  there  was  little  to  gain  by  the  movement,  for  the  deck 
was  equally  as  crowded,  and  equally  as  much  confusion  reigned 
there.  He,  however,  walked  aft  to  the  taff'rail,  so  as  to  be  as 
far  out  of  the  way  as  possible,  and  gazed  with  curiosity  upon 


THE   SEA   VOYAGE.  183 

the  busy  scene,  wondering  if  it  were  possible  that  things  could 
ever  be  arranged  and  put  in  order,  and  then  thinking  of  his 
mother,  and  wondering  if  she  then  were  thinking  of  him,  and 
wishing  that  he  possessed  only  for  an  hour  the  magic  carpet  of 
Arabian  story  that  carried  its  fortunate  possessor  whither 
soever  he  wished  the  instant  the  wish  was  formed — that  he 
might  again  see  her  before  he  sailed. 

Soon  after  the  captain  and  pilot  came  on  board  together,  the 
anchor  was  hove  up  :  all  persons  that  belonged  ashore  were 
ordered  to  leave  the  vessel :  the  steam-tug  was  lashed  along 
side,  and  the  Seringapatam,  with  her  decks  still  in  a  state  of 
apparently  inextricable  confusion — for  if  a  ship  were  to  remain 
in  port  a  month  after  she  was  ready  for  sea,  the  decks  never 
would  be  otherwise — was  towed  out  to  the  mouth  of  the  river. 

Gerald  remained  on  deck  till  dark,  and  then  sought  his  state 
room,  for  he  had  little  appetite  for  the  first  meal  at  sea,  which 
was  hurriedly  prepared  by  the  steward  for  such  as  were  desir 
ous  of  partaking  of  it,  and  lying  down  with  his  clothes  on,  in 
spite  of  the  many  thoughts  that  crowded  themselves  upon  his 
mind,  was  soon  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  he  knew  by  the  rolling  mo 
tion  of  the  vessel  that  she  had  passed  beyond  the  mouth  of  the 
river,  and  was  now  fairly  at  sea  in  the  channel.  A  slight  sen 
sation  of  nausea  at  the  stomach,  occasioned  by  the  unaccus 
tomed  motion  and  the  close  smell  of  the  cabin,  caused  him  to 
hasten  on  deck  to  breathe  the  fresh  air. 

A  miraculous  change  had  taken  place  during  the  night.  The 
dirty  lumbered  deck's  were  cleaned,  and  everything  was  in  its 
place,  while  the  decks  just  washed  down  by  the  morning  watch, 
were  as  clean  as  the  floor  of  an  uncarpeted  drawing-room. 
The  wind  was  fair,  and  the  ship  was  sailing  fully  eight  miles 
an  hour,  the  steam-tug  having  cast  adrift  from  her  three  or 
four  hours  before.  They  were  rapidly  passing  the  coast,  and 
Gerald,  who  soon  recovered  from  his  temporary  sensation  of 
nausea,  inquired  of  the  officer  of  the  deck  what  part  of  the 
coast  it  was  they  saw. 


184  THE    WANDERER. 

"  The  North  Foreland,"  replied  the  mate.  "  That  town  you 
see  there  a  little  ahead,  to  leeward,  is  Ramsgate." 

"  When  shall  we  reach  the  South  Foreland  ?"  inquired 
Gerald. 

"  In  the  course  of  a  couple  of  hours,  if  this  breeze  holds,  as 
it  seems  likely  to  do,"  returned  the  mate,  "  we  shall  be  off 
Dover.  That  point  there  looming  up  ahead  is  the  South  Fore 
land." 

Gerald  looked  towards  the  point  of  land  indicated  by  the 
mate  with  great  interest.  With  the  coast  from  Dover  to  Her- 
rington  he  was  well  acquainted,  the  latter  town  being  but  a  few 
miles  distant  from  the  former,  and  he  resolved  not  to  retire 
from  deck  until  Herrington  was  passed.  He  mentioned  to  the 
mate  that  his  boyhood  had  been  spent  in  Herrington,  and  beg 
ged  him  to  tell  him  when  they  approached  it. 

"  I  will  have  you  called  when  we  reach  Dover,"  said  the 
mate ;  "  meanwhile  as  the  bell  is  ringing  for  breakfast,  you  had 
better  go  down  to  the  cabin.  You  will  have  plenty  of  time 
to  get  your  breakfast." 

Gerald,  who  had  eaten  nothing  the  evening  before  and  whose 
appetite  had  returned  while  breathing  the  sea  air,  thought  this 
very  good  advice,  and  descended  into  the  cabin  to  take  his  first 
meal  on  board  the  Indiaman. 

There  was  a  poor  account  of  passengers  at  the  table,  although 
he  had  observed  on  the  previous  evening  that  all  the  state  rooms 
were  occupied ;  but  many  were  already  sea  sick,  and  others 
fatigued  with  their  exertions  the  day  before,  had  not  felt  in 
clined  to  get  up  to  breakfast. 

In  half  an  hour  Gerald  was  again  on  deck. 
"  We  are  passing  the  South  Foreland  now,"  said  the  mate,  as 
he  stepped  upon  the  poop  deck.  "  That's  Dover  you  see  there 
on  the  starboard  bow.  Take  the  spyglass  and  you  will  be  able 
to  see  the  Castle  quite  plainly  ;  in  another  hour  or  less  we  shall 
be  abreast  of  it." 

In  the  course  of  that  period  the  town  of  Dover  was  passed, 


TPIE   SEA   YOYAGE  185 

and  Gerald  watched  with  breathless  interest  the  line  of 
coast,  every  inch  of  which  he  knew  from  that  town  to  Herring- 
ton — the  church  of  which — that  church  which  the  reader  will 
recollect  had  once  been  whitewashed  by  order  of  the  Board  of 
Admiralty — he  could  already  discover,  perched  high,  seeming 
ly,  upon  the  very  verge  of  the  cliff.  Soon  the  vessel  was 
abreast  of  the  church,  and  then  the  town  of  Herrington,  and 
the  parsonage  house  of  the  good  old  vicar,  situated  near  the 
church,  were  distinctly  visible. 

He  could  even  see  the  people  walking  on  the  cliffs,  and  he 
pleased  his  fancy  by  imagining  that  one  figure,  walking  on  the 
cliff  near  the  church,  was  Mr.  Pearce,  who  he  knew  was  fond 
of  strolling  in  that  spot  and  watching  the  vessels  passing  be 
neath.  He  recollected  every  thing  that  had  befallen  him  in 
Herrington.  He  recognized  the  favorite  haunts  where  he  had 
been  wont  to  stroll  with  Alice,  and  he  fancied  he  could  even 
discover  among  the  numerous  huts  on  the  beach  the  famous 
boat-house  of  his  old  friend,  Jemrny  Milton — and  he  wondered 
whether  the  quaint  old  man  was  on  the  beach  watching  the  In- 
diaman  as  she  sailed  swiftly  by. 

But  the  wind  began  to  freshen  and  the  motion  of  the  vessel 
to  grow  more  violent,  and  Gerald,  used  though  he  had  been  to 
sail  out  in  Jemmy's  fishing  boat,  began  to  feel  a  strange  sensa 
tion  in  his  stomach,  and  shortly  became  so  sick  that  he  was  glad 
to  retire  to  his  state-room. 

The  breeze  remained  favorable  for  several  days,  and  the 
Seringapatam  made  a  rapid  passage  down  channel  and  through 
the  Bay  of  Biscay,  where  stormy  weather  and  adverse  winds  de 
tained  her  for  a  week  ;  but  the  weather  again  clearing  up  and 
the  wind  veering  round  to  the  Northward,  the  ship  again  made 
rapid  headway,  and  the  latitude  of  the  North  East  Trades  was 
reached  in  a  wonderfully  short  time  after  leaving  port. 

Gerald  had  quite  recovered  from  his  sea  sickness  before  the 
vessel  was  well  clear  of  the  channel,  but  the  Trade  winds  were 
reached  before  the  majority  of  the  passengers  showed  them- 


186  THE   WANDERER. 

selves  upon  deck ;  but  after  this  period  every  body  seemed 
happy  ;  the  regrets  at  leaving  home  were  forgotten,  and  the 
future  beamed  cheerfully  before  them. 

The  passengers  on  board  the  Seringapatam  being  in  no  way 
connected  with  my  story,  I  shall  pass  them  over  very  cursorily. 
They  comprised  the  customary  class  of  passengers  to  be  found 
on  board  an  outward  bound  Indiaman.  There  were  two  young 
ladies,  East  Indians  by  birth,  being  the  daughters  of  a  resident 
Judge,  who  had  been  at  school  at  Brighton,  and  now,  under  the 
charge  of  a  governess,  were  returning  to  India  to  their  parents  ; 
there  was  an  elderly  young  lady,  going  to  India,  it  was  said, 
to  visit  her  brother,  who  held  an  appointment  in  the  Com 
pany's  service ;  perhaps  this  was  true,  but  the  first  mate, 
who  was  a  bit  of  a  wag,  informed  Gerald  that  he  thought  it  was 
not  altogether  sisterly  affection  that  had  prompted  her  to 
undertake  the  voyage.  He  believed  that  she  was  going 
out  in  the  hope  of  catching  a  husband,  in  the  shape  of  some 
jaundiced,  liver-diseased  official  of  the  Company,  whose  yellow 
gold  would  compensate  for  his  yellow  skin — the  elderly  young 
lady  having  reached  some  years  before,  the  age  when  ladies  are 
laid  on  the  shelf  and  labelled  "  unmanageable"  in  England. 
The  mate  furthermore  said  he  had  never  made  a  voyage  that 
one  or  two  ladies  of  her  class  had  not  gone  out  as  passengers, 
and  what  is  more  the  chances  were  more  than  even  that  they 
succeeded  in  bringing  down  their  game.  There  was  a  bilious 
looking  major  returning  from  a  three  years'  furlough,  and  two 
young  cadets  from  the  Cadet's  College  at  Croydon,  who,  fresh 
colored  and  full  of  life,  spirit  and  hope,  were  going  out  to  India 
to  become  in  time  as  yellow  and  bilious  as  the  major .  There 
was  a  chaplain  and  his  wife  going  to  join  the  garrison  at  Cawn- 
pore,  and  a  young  doctor  going  to  Calcutta  to  take  the  post  of 
assistant  surgeon  in  the  garrison  of  Fort  William  ;  these,  with 
Gerald,  comprised  the  list  of  passengers  on  board  the  Seringa 
patam. 

Nothing  worth  recording  happened  on  the  passage — the  ves 
sel  met  with  the  usual  share  of  fair  and  foul  weather ;  fell  in 


AKRIVAL   AT    CALCUTTA.  187 

with  a  gale  off  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope ;  went  into  Table  Bay 
to  replenish  her  supply  of  water  and  to  obtain  fresh  provisions, 
and  in  seventy-six  days  after  passing  the  Land's  End  entered 
the  mouth  of  the  Hooghly  River,  and  came  to  an  anchor  at 
Diamond  Harbor  the  same  day.  Thence  the  passengers  took 
passage  in  a  steamer  for  the  city  of  Calcutta,  the  ship  being  of 
too  heavy  a  draught  of  water  to  pass  over  the  William's  and 
Mary  flats,  further  up  the  river. 

Gerald  and  the  other  passengers  who  had  not  been  in  India 
before,  admired  the  novelty  of  the  scenery  as  they  sailed  past 
it ;  sometimes  seeming,  in  the  tortuous  windings,  to  be  enclosed 
on  a  lake,  encompassed  on  all  sides  by  a  tangled  forest  of  im 
penetrable  jungle,  and  then,  suddenly  emerging  by  an  outlet 
only  visible  when  they  were  close  to  it,  the  scene  would  open 
upon  a  native  Hindoo  village,  with  its  grotesque  temples  dedi 
cated  to  the  worship  of  Vishnoo  or  Bramah,  each  surrounded 
by  a  railed  enclosure  in  which  grazed  perfectly  at  his  ease  pro 
vided  for  for  life  and  honored  as  a  god,  the  sacred  bull.  At 
night  the  steamer  came  to  an  anchor,  and  then  when  all  else 
was  still  might  be  heard  the  shrill  bark  of  the  jackal,  or  the 
hideous  shriek  of  the  hyena,  roaming  the  jungle  for  their  prey? 
and  the  sharp  cry  of  the  owl  and  night  eagle  engaged  in  the 
same  predatory  occupation.  By  noon  the  next  clay  the  far  famed 
Garden  Reach,  where  are  situated  the  "  bungalos,5'  or  villas 
of  the  wealthy  merchants  and  high  officials  of  the  government, 
with  their  sloping  lawns  richly  ornamented  with  tropical  shrub 
bery  and  brilliant  flowers,  reaching  to  the  water's  edge,  was  in 
sight,  with  the  Botanical  Garden  on  the  other  hand — and  in 
another  hour  the  steamer  was  at  anchor  near  Chand-paul  Ghaut 
and  the  City  of  Palaces,  the  proud,  queen  city  of  British  India 
lay  open  to  the  curious  and  admiring  gaze  of  the  strangers  from 
a  far  distant  shore. 

The  passengers  were  soon  landed  in  one  of  the  numerous 
dingie  wallahs,  or  small  canoes  manned  by  Lascars,  who  ply  for 
fares  with  unceasing  pertinacity,  and  who  manage  their  fragile 
6 


188  THE    WANDERER. 

barks  with  admirable  dexterity,  and  Gerald  seeing  all  the  other 
passengers  leaving,  asked  the  captain's  advice  as  to  how  he 
should  act. 

"  Have  you  no  letters  of  introduction]"  asked  the  captain 
in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"No,"  answered  Gerald. 

"  That's  bad — very  foolish  indeed  ;  you  can't  go  to  an  hotel. 
Nobody  does  here  wrho  has  any  regard  for  his  own  position. 
If  it  were  known  that  you  did  so,  you  would  injure  your  pros 
pects  immediately.  However,  since  it  is  so,  you  can't  do  bet 
ter  than  accompany  me  to  my  consignee's  house.  I'll  vouch 
for  you,  and  you'll  get  a  bed  for  the  night,  and  for  a  week  if 
you  like ;  but  you'll  want  a  servant." 

"  A  servant !''  said  Gerald,  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  thought 
of  the  expense  such  an  appendage  would  entail. 

"  Of  course/'  said  the  captain,  "  Every  one  must  have  his 
body  servant  here." 

"  How  much  will  it  cost1?''  said  Gerald. 

"  Oh,  a  mere  trifle,  half  a  rupee  a  day  will  hire  a  first  class 
one,  and  the  beggars  find  themselves." 

"  Oh  !"  exclaimed  Gerald,  considerably  relieved. 

"  Here,  Lall,"  said  the  captain,  addressing  a  tall,  handsome 
Hindoo  who  stood  near  and  whom  he  appeared  to  recognize. 
"You  want  Sahib,  eh]" 

"  Achah  Sahib,"  (yes  master)  replied  the  Hindoo,  whose 
forehead  was  ornamented  with  a  red  and  white  streak  to  mark 
his  caste. 

"Then  here's  a  Sahib  wants  to  hire  you,"  continued  the 
captain,  "  How  much  wages  you  ask,  eh1?" 

" Me  first  rate  fellow ;  hab  plenty,  too  much  chit"  (recom 
mendations)  replied  the  man. 

"  Confound  your  chits,  and  as  to  your  being  a  good  fellow,  I 
suppose  you're  about  on  a  par  with  the  rest.  However,"  turn 
ing  to  Gerald,  "  I  know  the  fellow,  so  you  had  best  engage  him. 
How  much  do  you  ask  a  month  ]"  again  addressing  the  man. 

Twenty-five  rupees,  my  price,"  said  the  Hindoo. 


ARRIVAL    AT    CALCUTTA.  189 

Twenty-five  d s,"  exclaimed  the  captain.  "  This  Sahib 

'11  give  you  twelve  rupees  a  month ;  now  say  if  you're  willing 
to  hire,  if  not  be  off  with  you." 

"  Me  take,"  said  the  Hindoo,  submissively,  and  forthwith 
he  was  installed  in  Gerald's  service,  while  he  should  remain  in 
Calcutta. 

"Now  the  dingie  wallah's  alongside,  let's  go  ashore,'7  said 
the  captain.  "  By  the  way,  you'd  better  take  half  a  dozen 
changes  of  clothing  with  you.  You'll  need  'em,  unless  you 
mean  to  come  on  board  again  early  in  the  morning." 

Gerald  contented  himself  with  three  shirts  and  the  like  num 
ber  of  pairs  of  white  trowsers,  and  putting  them  into  his  car 
pet  bag,  stepped  into  his  boat,  and  was  soon  landed  on  the  es 
planade  just  at  the  time  the  equipages  of  the  merchants,  offi 
cers  of  government,  and  wealthy  natives  were  arriving  filled 
with  occupants  about  to  take  their  customary  evening  promen 
ade.  The  young  man  thought  as  he  gazed  at  the  handsome 
vehicles  and  the  gaily  attired  occupants,  that  he  had  never  wit 
nessed  so  magnificent  a  sight,  the  varied  dresses  of  the  Par- 
see,  Hindoo,  Musselman,  and  Armenian  merchants,  adding  a 
never  ceasing  variety  to  the  brilliant  scene  ;  but  he  had  little 
time  to  admire  the  ever  changing  diorama ;  the  captain  was 
in  a  hurry  to  reach  the  residence  of  his  consignee,  and  they 
walked  rapidly  along  the  Cheringhee  Road  until  they  came  to  a 
spacious  house,  which  the  captain  informed  Gerald  was  the  resi 
dence  of  Mr.  Thompson,  the  merchant  to  whom  the  greater 
portion  of  his  cargo  was  consigned. 

Gerald  was  astonished  at  the  size  of  the  house,  and  the 
troops  of  servants  clad  in  white  dresses,  who  received  the  cap 
tain  and  himself  as  if  they  had  been  persons  of  the  highest 
dignity,  and  through  the  rank  formed  by  the  bowing  groups, 
they  passed  to  the  apartment  in  which  they  were  received  by 
the  merchant,  to  whom  the  captain  introduced  his  young  com 
panion. 

The  young  man  was  kindly  received  and  the  circumstance? 


190  THE    WANDERER. 

of  his  visit  having  been  explained,  he  was  hospitably  pressed 
to  make  his  home  at  Mr.  Thompson's  house,  as  long  as  it  was 
convenient  to  him,  and  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  Gerald 
having  partially  explained  to  the  merchant  the  nature  of  the 
merchandise  entrusted  to  his  care,  the  latter  gave  him  the 
names  of  two  or  three  native  merchants,  who  would  be  most 
likely  to  do  business  with  him.  "  But,"  he  said,  "  I  am  very 
sorry  that  I  cannot  afford  you  much  encouragement,  young 
gentleman.  I  really  can't  understand  what  possesses  the  peo 
ple  at  home.  Our  markets  are  overstocked  with  goods  of 
every  description  already.  Indeed  they  have  been  so  for  the 
last  three  months,  ever  since  the  first  returns  from  England 
after  the  news  had  reached  there  of  the  reaction  that  has  taken 
place  in  business.  However,  if  your  merchandise  is  first  class 
as  they  say  here,  A  No.  1,  you  may  perhaps  get  a  fair  price." 

Gerald  was  greatly  disappointed  with  this  intelligence  ;  but 
having  resolved  to  do  his  best  for  his  employers,  and  thinking 
it  the  wisest  plan  to  lose  no  time,  lest,  as  ships  were  almost 
daily  arriving,  matters  might  become  still  more  unfavorable, 
he  hired  a  palankeen  next  morning,  and  guided  by  his  Hindoo 
servant,  proceeded  to  the  residence  of  M.  De  Sylva,  a  native 
Portuguese  merchant  who,  he  had  been  informed  was  one  of 
the  most  substantial  and  trustworthy  of  the  class  of  mer 
chants  with  whom  it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  deal. 

Mr.  De  Sylva  resided  on  the  confines  of  the  native  town,  but 
half  an  hour's  brisk  ride  in  the  palankeen  borne  by  two  stout 
coolies  carried  him  to  the  merchant's  residence. 

It  was  situated  near  the  bazaar,  and  the  locality  presented 
much  the  appearance  that  Chatham  street,  New  York,  or  Mon- 
mouth  street,  London,  would  present,  were  these  choice  He 
brew  localities  transplanted  to  a  tropical  clime,  and  invested 
with  the  peculiarities  incidental  to  an  oriental  city.  Merchan 
dise  of  every  conceivable  description  was  openly  exposed  for 
sale,  and  the  passers-by  were  urged  and  persuaded  to  purchase 
with  a  degree  of  pertinacity  unknown  even  in  the  localities 
alluded  to. 


THE  PORTUGUESE  MERCHANT.      191 

One  of  the  largest  of  these  shops  was  occupied  by  Mr.  De 
Sylva.  The  merchant  was  at  home,  and  Gerald  having  intro 
duced  himself,  told  the  nature  of  his  business,  and  further 
more,  informed  the  merchant  that  he  had  been  recommended 
to  apply  to  him  by  Mr.  Thompson^  Mr.  De  Sylva  was  all 
anxiety  to  see  the  goods,  and  urgent  in  lite  protestations  that 
he  would  pay  a  higher  price  and  deal  more  honestly  by  the 
seller  than  any  of  his  fellow -merchants.  He  was  a  small  man, 
nearly  as  darkly  complexioned  as  a  Hindoo,  but  possessing 
regular  European  features,  and  an  almost  effeminate  expres 
sion  of  countenance  ;  yet  those  who  regarded  him  attentively, 
might  readily  perceive  the  cunning  of  the  paltry  peddler  in 
the  sharp  yet  cautious  expression  of  his  eye.  He  spoke  Eng 
lish  fluently. 

"  When  shall  you  have  your  merchandise  ready  ?"  he  asked 
of  Gerald. 

"  In  the  course  of  a  day  or  two,"  the  young  man  replied. 
"  The  captain  says  he  shall  commence  discharging  as  soon  as 
the  ship  is  towed  up  to  the  city.  That  will  be  to-morrow,  and 
next  day  I  hope  to  have  my  goods  landed,  and  after  they  have 
passed  the  Custom  House,  I  presume  there  will  be  no  further 
difficulty." 

"  None  at  all,  sir,"  said  Mr.  De  Sylva.  "  Have  you  a  copy 
of  the  invoice,  that  I  may  look  it  over  ?'; 

"  I  have  but  the  original  copy,"  said  Gerald,  "  and  that,  it 
will  be  necessary  for  me  to  show  at  the  Custom  House ;  but  I  will 
make  another  copy  this  evening,  and  bring  it  you  to-morrowr." 

"  Do  s:>,"  said  the  merchant.  "  I  am  sorry  you  have  it  not 
with  you  to-day,  in  order  that  1  might  lose  no  time  in  ascer 
taining  in  what  manner  I  may  best  dispose  of  the  goods.  In 
case  I  should  not  be  able  to  purchase  the  whole,  I  might  show 
the  invoice  to  my  fellow-merchants,  and  what  does  not  suit  me 
may  suit  them." 

"  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you,"  said  Gerald. 

"  By-the-bye,  shall  you  stop  on  board  the  Indiaman  ?" 
asked  Mr.  De  Sylva. 


192  THE    WANDERER. 

"  No,"  replied  Gerald.  "  For  the  present,  Mr.  Thompson 
has  kindly  offered  me  a  home  at  his  house ;  but  I  cannot  long 
trespass  upon  his  hospitality." 

"  Why  not  come  and  stay  with  me  ?"  said  Mr.  De  Sylva. 
"  I  have  a  large  house  and  half  a  dozen  rooms  at  your  service, 
and  my  servants  are  your  own.  As  we  are  about  to  do  busi 
ness  together,  it  is  but  fair  that  you  should  take  up  your  abode 
at  my  house.  It  is  the  custom  of  the  country,"  he  smilingly 
added  after  a  pause. 

Gerald  thought  it  would  be  more  desirable  were  he  to  accept 
the  invitation  so  freely  given.  He  naturally  felt  that  he  was 
intruding  upon  Mr.  Thompson,  and  as  it  was  the  custom  of 
the  country  for  those  with  whom  one  was  doing  business  to 
play  the  part  of  a  host,  he  readily  consented  to  Mr.  De  Sylva' s 
proposal. 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  notwithstanding  the  consignee 
pressed  him  to  remain,  assuring  him  that  he  was  not  inconve 
niencing  himself  nor  his  family  in  the  slightest  degree,  Gerald 
removed  his  few  effects  to  the  house  of  the  Portuguese  mer 
chant,  and  took  up  his  abode  there,  and  in  the  cool  of  the  even 
ing,  Mr.  De  Sylva  offered  to  take  him  out  in  his  buggy  to  ride 
on  the  esplanade. 

"  You  have  no  private  venture  of  your  own  besides  the  mer 
chandise  entrusted  to  your  care  ?"  said  the  merchant,  interroga 
tively,  in  the  course  of  the  drive. 

"  Not  exactly,"  replied  the  young  man  ;  "  at  least  nothing  of 
consequence.  I  have  a  case  of  dried  bullock's  tongues,  some 
three  hundred  or  so,  that's  all." 

This  case  of  tongues  had  been  purchased  at  a  bargain  by  Mr. 
Hoffmann,  two  days  prior  to  the  sailing  of  the  Seringapatam, 
and  had  been  presented  by  him  to  Gerald  for  his  own  private 
benefit,  Mr.  Hoffmann  telling  him  that  as  they  would  probably 
be  considered  :>  rare  delicacy  in  Calcutta,  he  ought  to  get  at 
least  half  a  guinea  apiece  for  them. 

"Bullock's  tongues  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  De  Sylva.    "  If  it  was 


BUSINESS    ARRANGEMENTS.  193 

not  your  own  special  venture,  I  could  put  you  in  a  way  to 
make  more  of  them  than  you  can  do  by  selling  them." 

"  In  what  manner  V  asked  Gerald.  "  If  I  can  in  any  way 
benefit  my  employers,  I  will  not  allow  my  own  interests  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  doing  so." 

"  By  giving  them  away,  or,  at  any  rate,  by  so  disposing 
of  a  portion  of  them.  They  will  be  considered  a  great  deli 
cacy  here,  and  a  little  well  considered  liberality  opens  men's 
hearts.  I  should  advise  you  to  make  a  present  of  a  few  to 
each  of  the  merchants  whom  I  will  point  out  to  you,  and  whom 
I  consider  likely  to  deal  with  you,  for  you  know  that  I,  although 
a  merchant,  am  likewise  a  commission  agent  for  others,  and  it 
is  only  by  the  exercise  of  the  latter  profession  that  I  can  hope 
to  dispose  of  all  your  merchandise  for  you,  though  I  will  take 
a  large  portion,  it  is  likely,  upon  my  own  account." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  place  the  entire  stock  at  your  service, 
Mr.  De  Sylva,"  said  Gerald,  "  reserving  only  half  a  dozen 
which  I  intend  to  give  to  Mr.  Thompson,  and  another  half 
dozen  that  I  shall  present  to  the  captain  of  the  Seringapatam." 

"A  hundred  or  so  will  be  sufficient,"  said  the  merchant, 
"  and  the  remainder,  after  we  have  both  served  our  turn,  as  I 
trust  we  shall  do,  I  will  gladly  purchase  from  you  at  a  fair 
market  price." 

Gerald  readily  consented  to  this  arrangement,  and  the  buggy 
was  drawing  up  at  Mr.  De  Sylva's  residence ;  he  and  Mr.  De 
Sylva  alighted  and  entered  the  dwelling. 

Dinner  was  ready,  and  the  Portuguese  merchant  played  the 
host  to  admiration.  His  hospitality  appeared  to  be  unbounded, 
and  Gerald  congratulated  himself  on  having  fallen  in  with  so 
honest  and  gentlemanly  a  man. 

After  dinner  Mr.  De  Sylva  observed  that  they  might  as  well, 
to  prevent  mistakes,  ratify  the  verbal  agreement  that  had  pass 
ed  between  them,  and  Gerald  consenting,  an  agreement  was 
drawn  out  and  mutually  signed,  to  the  effect  that  Gerald  Dai- 
ton,  agent  for  Mr.  Hoffmann  and  others,  did  appoint  Carlos  De 
9 


194  THE    WANDERER. 

Sylva,  merchant  of  Calcutta,  sole  agent  for  the  sale  of  the  mer 
chandise  belonging  to  the  aforesaid  Hoffmann  and  others,  now 
on  board  the  Seringapatam  East  Indiaman  from  London,  and 
lying  at  anchor  in  the  port  of  Calcutta.  And  this  matter 
settled,  the  gentlemen  lighted  their  cigars  and  adjourned  to  the 
verandah,  to  smoke  and  chat  and  enjoy  the  cool  air  of  the 
evening. 

In  a  day  or  two  the  goods  in  charge  of  Gerald  were 
landed,  and  taken  to  the  Custom  House,  whither  he  himself 
also  proceeded  to  hasten  them  through  the  necessary  forms  to 
be  observed  before  the  heterogeneous  merchandise  composing 
the  venture,  from  the  sale  of  which  such  extraordinary  profit 
was  anticipated,  was  free  to  enter  the  Calcutta  market. 

Gerald  was  somewhat  annoyed  at  the  mysterious  nods  and 
smiles  that  passed  between  the  Hindoo  clerks,  and  at  the 
seemingly  facetious  remarks  that  they  made,  occasioning  an 
interchange  of  knowing  glances  ;  but  as  he  could  not  understand 
the  language  in  which  these  remarks  were  uttered,  he.  remained 
in  ignorance  of  the  cause  of  this  singular  facetiousness  on  their 
part. 

However,  they  were  accommodating  enough  to  pass  the 
goods  without  giving  any  unnecessary  trouble,  and  glad  to  have 
got  through  this  difficulty,  Gerald  lost  no  time  in  hiring  a  bul 
lock  cart  to  convey  his  treasures  to  Mr.  De  Sylva's  bazaar,  as 
he  had  been  directed ;  hiring  at  the  same  time  a  palankeen  and 
bearers  in  which  he  accompanied  the  cart  to  the  bazaar. 

He  found  Mr.  De  Sylva  anxiously  looking  out  for  him,  and 
by  the  merchant's  direction  the  goods  were  unloaded  from  the 
cart,  and  placed  in  the  store. 

"  Now,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  merchant,  "  suppose  we 
take  some  slight  refreshment ;  the  day  is  very  sultry,  and  you 
must  be  fatigued.  Brandy  pawnee  lao,"  (bring  brandy  and 
water)  he  added,  speaking  to  a  servant. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Gerald,  "  but  I  am  afraid  to  drink  spirits 
so  early  in  the  day." 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  195 

"  A  glass  of  claret  then  ?     Bring  claret,  too." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  that,''  said  Gerald,  "  for  I  feel  the 
heat  excessive  and  am  very  thirsty." 

The  merchant  helped  himself  to  brandy  and  water,  and  the 
young  man  to  claret  ;  and  having  rested  himself,  Gerald  ex 
pressed  a  desire  to  proceed  at  once  to  business. 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  copy  of  my  invoice,"  he  said.  "  Yes 
terday  I  gave  you  some  idea  of  the  merchandise  I  have  under 
my  charge ;  perhaps  you  will  look  over  the  invoice  and  con 
sider  what  can  be  done,  meanwhile  I  will  see  the  goods  unpack 
ed,"  and  leaving  the  merchant  sitting  in  the  verandah  of  his 
house,  Gerald  went  into  the  store  to  superintend  the  opening 
of  the  cases. 

He  returned  in  a  short  time  and  inquired  of  the  merchant 
whether  he  would  like  to  go  with  him  and  examine  the  guods. 

Mr.  De  Sylva  assented,  and  they  went  back  to  the  store  to 
gether. 

"  Rather  a  curious  assortment  of  goods  you  have,  Mr.  Dai- 
ton,''  said  the  merchant,  looking  alternately  at  the  invoice  he 
held  in  his  hand  and  at  the  cases  before  him,  and  occasionally 
lifting  out  and  examining  a  portion  of  their  contents. 

"  Saleable,  I  hope  T7  said  Gerald,  interrogatively. 

"  I  hope  so.  We  will  do  the  best  we  can  with  them  ;  but, 
my  dear  sir,  they  are  invoiced  at  a  very  high  figure.  Eye 
snuff!  what  sort  of  snuff  is  that?"  he  said  inquiringly. 

"  That's  really  more  than  I  can  tell  you  till  the  cases  are 
opened,'7  said  Gerald,  "  although  now  I  think  of  it,  I  believe  I 
have  a  sample  package  in  my  trunk.  I  know,  however,  that  it 
has  long  had  an  immense  sale  in  England." 

"  Hem  I"  muttered  the  merchant,  running  over  the  contents 
of  the  invoice — "  Parmesan  cheese — very  good ;  I  have  no 
doubt  that  will  do.  Pickles,"  shaking  his  head.  "  A  mistake, 
sir ;  English  pickles  have  a  slow  sale  here.  We  have  so  many 
varieties  of  our  own ;  besides  the  market  is  overstocked. 
What's  this — oh !  curtain  chintz ;  that  may  do.  Calicoes. 


196  THE    WANDEKER. 

spades,  rakes,  hatchets — ah!  I  perceive,  in  these  crates,  eh1? 
Well,  very  good,  they'll  find  a  ready  sale  in  the  Native  Bazaar. 
Crockery — hem  !  What's  this  ?  Two — two — " 

"  Two  cremona  violins,"  explained  Gerald,  looking  over  the 
merchant's  shoulder  at  the  invoice. 

"  Hem  !  and  ban — ah  !  banjos.     What  are  they  f 

"Some  kind  of  musical  instrument.  A  new  invention,  I 
think." 

"  Ha !  One  harpsichord  ;  one  spinnett — " 

"  You  know  what  they  are  1"  said  Gerald. 

"  Not  exactly,"  returned  the  merchant.  "  A  new  kind  of 
instrument?" 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  the  young  man,  "  old  enough  in 
all  conscience  ;  but  the  gentleman  who  sent  them  thought  they 
might  sell  to  advantage  in  India." 

"  Bottle  corks,  labelled  ;  Turkish  cimeters  ;  engravings  ; 
copper  plates  ;  one  suit  of  ancient  armor  complete,  except  the 
visor  !':  continued  the  merchant.  "  Why,  my  good  sir,  this  last 
assortment  is  a  singular  one  indeed.  I  am  afraid  it  will  not 
be  a  very  profitable  speculation  to  the  owner." 

"  1  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  Gerald,  "  for  he  is  a  good 
friend  of  mine.  I  should  regret  that  he  should  be  a  loser  by 
my  coming  to  India.  How  do  you  intend  to  dispose  of  them  ? 
What  do  you  propose  to  purchase  yourself?"  he  continued 
after  a  pause,  observing  that  Mr.  De  Sylva  remained  silent. 

"  I  would  take  the  hardware  and  cutlery,"  said  the  mer 
chant  ;  "  but  there  is  too  much  of  the  latter  for  my  purposes. 
I  should  advise  you  to  permit  me  to  dispose  of  the  whole  lot 
of  goods  by  auction,  and  I  will  buy  in  what  I  want ;  but  you 
have  invoiced  them  far  too  high,  indeed.  To  sell  them,  any  of 
them,  indeed,  at  any  thing  like  the  prices  in  the  invoice,  you 
would  have  to  store  them  for  months,  paying  high  storage  the 
meanwhile ;  though  it  may  go  at  auction,  it  can  scarcely  be 
sold  in  any  other  way." 

"  I  will  think  about  it,"  said   Gerald  in  a  tone  of  disappoint- 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  191 

ment.  "  I  have  to  go  on  board  the  Seringapatam  this  afternoon, 
and  on  my  way  I  will  call  on  Mr.  Thompson  and  ask  his  ad 
vice.  Meanwhile  I  will  leave  you  to  examine  the  goods  more 
closely  after  they  are  unpacked,"  and  wishing  the  merchant 
good  day,  and  promising  to  return  in  the  evening,  he  ordered 
his  servant  to  call  the  bearers,  who  had  lain  themselves  down 
on  the  matting  in  the  outer  office  to  sleep — coolie  fashion.  He 
then  got  into  the  palankeen  and  requested  his  servant  to  direct  the 
bearers  to  stop  at  Mr.  Thompson's  house  in  the  Cheringhee 
Road. 

Arrived  there,  he  requested  to  see  the  consignee,  and  on  be 
ing  introduced  to  him,  related  the  adventures  of  the  morn 
ing,  expressing  his  disappointment  at  the  appearance  of  things, 
and  concluded  by  asking  his  advice  how  to  act. 

"  Have  you  the  invoice  with  you  ?"  asked  the  merchant. 

"  It  is  here,"  said  the  young  man,  drawing  the  original  in 
voice  from  his  pocket. 

The  merchant  took  it,  and  glancing  over  the  contents, 
said  : — 

"  I  must  observe,  young  gentleman,  that  the  parties  who 
selected  these  goods  could  have  had  little  knowledge  of  the 
description  of  goods  most  suitable  for  this  country  ;  and  it  is 
no  fault  of  yours,  but  the  prices  at  which  the  articles  are  in 
voiced  are  positively  outrageous.  I  should  advise  you  to  do 
as  Mr.  De  Sylva  proposes,  and  let  the  goods  be  sold  by  auction 
as  soon  as  possible.' 

"  By  auction  !"  exclaimed  Gerald,  catching  his  breath  as 
his  high  flown  anticipations  of  obtaining  a  liberal  per  centage 
for  his  own  share  vanished.  "  I  shall  obtain  but  a  very  low 
price  for  the  goods  at  auction  ?" 

"  Perhaps  you  will  do  better  than  by  selling  them  in  any 
other  way,"  replied  the  merchant.  "  We  dispose  of  immense 
quantities  of  goods  in  that  manner  here,  and  sometimes  obtain 
very  good  prices.  I  have  sold  entire  cargoes  by  auction." 

"Is  Mr.  De  Sylva  a  good  man  to  trust  the  sale  to]"  in- 


198  THE    WANDERER. 

quired  the  young  man,  his  opinion  of  the  Portuguese  merchant 
having  undergone  considerable  modification,  on  account  of  his 
manner  that  morning. 

"  Quite  as  good  a  man  as  you  can  find  among  his  class,"  re 
plied  Mr.  Thompson.  "These  Portuguese  merchants  are  a 
sorry  set ;  but  they  are  necessary.  In  your  case  you  have  no 
alternative  but  to  trust  to  him.  You  must  look  sharp  after 
him  ;  but  he  has  a  better  reputation  than  most  of  his  class." 

"  Suppose  I  leave  the  goods  in  store  for  future  sale  ?"  said 
Gerald. 

"  They  would  in  that  case  probably  remain  there  until  they 
had  to  be  sold  by  auction  to  pay  for  the  storage,"  replied  the 
merchant.  "If  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  dispose  of  them 
as  soon  as  possible ;  you  may  not  do  so  very  badly  after 
all." 

Gerald  thanked  the  merchant  for  the  information  he  had 
given  him,  and  descending  to  the  street,  entered  the  palankeen 
and  went  on  board  the  vessel,  where  a  portion  of  his  luggage 
still  remained. 

Descending  to  the  cabin,  he  entered  his  state-room,  and  un 
locking  his  writing-desk,  took  out  the  letter  of  instructions  Mr. 
Hoffmann  had  placed  in  his  hands  the  day  the  vessel  sailed 
from  London,  and  read  it  carefully. 

In  it  he  was  instructed  to  sell  at  all  hazards  ;  to  get  as  high 
prices  as  possible,  but  to  sell ;  and  if  he  thought  it  advisable, 
provided  he  could  obtain  the  assistance  of  some  competent  per 
son  to  direct  him  in  the  choice  of  goods,  he  was  left  at  liberty 
to  invest  the  returns  from  the  "  venture"  in  the  purchase  of 
such  articles  as  would  command  a  sale  in  England. 

'•''Sell  at  all  hazards  !"  he  muttered.  "As  they  say  in  New 
York,  '  1  guess  I'm  sold.'  Well,  I  suppose  I  had  better  follow 
Mr.  Thompson's  advice.  What  on  earth  induced  them  to  send 
out  such  a  pack  of  rubbish  ?  It  would  serve  them  right  if  1 
were  to  turn  the  tables  upon  them.  I've  a  good  mind  to  invest 
the  proceeds  in  maize  or  some  such  stuff,  or  to  send  home  a 


A   NATIVE   AUCTION   SALE.  199 

cargo  of  monkeys.  However,  it's  no  use  grieving  over  a  bad 
job.  I'll  go  back  to  De  Sylva,  and  tell  him  to  dispose  of  them 
to  the  best  advantage  he  can,  and  trust  to  chance." 

Having  thus  made  up  his  mind,  he  went  on  shore,  and  re 
turning  to  the  residence  of  the  Portuguese  merchant,  told 
him  that  he  should  leave  everything  in  his  hands. 

"  There  will  be  a  great  auction  sale  in  the  native  bazaar  to 
morrow,"  said  the  merchant.  "  If  you  are  agreeable,  I  will 
send  the  goods  there,  and  we'll  have  them  put  up  at  once,  the 
first  thing,  as  soon  as  the  auction  commences." 

"As  you  think  best,"  replied  the  young  man,  carelessly. 

At  an  early  hour  on  the  following  morning,  Gerald  went  to 
the  bazaar.  His  merchandise  was  already  there,  and  as  his 
only  desire  now  was  to  get  rid  of  it  as  quickly  as  possible,  he 
was  glad  to  learn  from  Mr.  De  Sylva,  who  handed  him  a  list 
filled  with  hieroglyphics  that  he  could  make  neither  head  nor 
tail  of,  that  the  sale  of  his  goods  would  commence  the  auction. 

He  looked  cursorily  around  at  the  throng  of  persons  assem 
bled ;  it  was  a  motley  crew,  comprising  Mussulmen,  Hindoos 
of  every  caste,  Parsees,  Jews,  Armenians,  Chinese,  and,  as  he 
thought,  representatives  of  every  Oriental  nation  or  trrbe ;  but 
not  a  single  European  was  present.  The  confusion  of  tongues 
could  not  have  been  greater  at  the  Tower  of  Babel.  Every 
body  was  vociferating  loudly,  either  in  their  own  peculiar  lan 
guage,  or  in  the  native  Bengalee  common  to  them  all ;  but  of 
course  not  a  word  was  intelligible  to  the  young  man. 

"  They  are  going  to  begin.  How  would  you  like  the  goods 
put  up  ?"  said  Mr.  De  Sylva. 

"Just  as  you  please,"  replied  Gerald. 

"  You  have  no  choice  ?  There  is  nothing  you  would  wish  to 
dispose  of  in  preference  to  the  rest  of  the  goods'?" 

"  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  can't  understand  a  word  that's  said  ; 
and  I  don't  understand  your  system  of  selling.  So,  go  ahead, 
and  do  the  best  you  can." 

The  goods  were  brought  forward  and  put  up  promiscuous- 


200  THE    WANDEREK. 

ly,  and  to  Gerald's  great  delight,  they  appeared  to  go  off  tol 
erably  well.  At  all  events  they  were  sold  with  great  rapidity. 
There  was  much  merriment,  in  which  the  young  man  could  not 
help  joining,  although  he  could  not  understand  the  jokes  that 
passed,  when  the  elegant  and  well  selected  assortment  of  Mr. 
Hoffman  was  exhibited.  The  bottle-corks  were  cast  aside  with 
contempt;  but  a  Chinese  bid  readily  for  the  banjos,  and  also 
bought  the  eye  snuff,  and  an  old  Bramin  bought  both  the  vio 
lins  ;  the  harpsichord  was  sold  to  an  Armenian,  and  the  Spin- 
ette  to  a  Jew,  who  also  purchased  the  engravings  and  copper 
plates.  The  suit  of  armor  stuck  for  a  long  time,  and  when 
the  bids  did  commence,  they  appeared  to  be  very  slow ;  but 
at  length  this  also  was  knocked  down  to  the  Chinese,  and  M. 
de  Sylva  then  descended  from  his  rostrum,  and  with  a  smile 
informed  the  young  man  that  the  sale  of  his  goods  was  con 
cluded. 

"  How  much  has  the  entire  lot  brought  ?"  he  inquired. 

"That  I  cannot  tell  you  just  now,  the  sale  has  been  so  mixed 
up.  I  have  bought  in  a  good  many  things  myself.  We  will 
arrange  all  that  hereafter.  Shall  we  retire  or  would  you  like 
to  stay  and  watch  the  proceedings?" 

"  I  have  seen  enough,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Then  we  will  leave,"  and  the  Portuguese,  and  the  young 
men  retired  together  from  the  bazaar. 

"  By  the  by,"  observed  Gerald,  "  the  tongues — I  did  not  no 
tice  that  you  put  up  the  tongues." 

"  I  have  reserved  them  for  myself,"  said  the  merchant.  "  I 
shall  offer  you  six  rupees  apiece  for  the  hundred  that  remain." 

"  How  much  is  that  equivalent  to  ?'; 

"  To  twelve  shillings  of  English  money. " 

"  Why  that  is  more  than  they  are  invoiced  at,"  said  Gerald, 
in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Yes,  I  wish  you  had  more  of  them.  I  would  give  you  the 
same  price  for  them." 

"And  only  one  hundred  was  left  out  of  the  three  hundred 
contained  in  the  package  ?" 


A   NATIVE   AUCTION   SALE.  201 

"  Only  one  hundred.  You  know  you  consented  to  my  giv 
ing  away  a  quantity  of  them.  I  distributed  them  among  the 
merchants  you  saw  at  the  Bazaar.  It  was  a  famous  thought 
and  went  a  great  way  towards  putting  them  in  good  humor. 
You  saw  how  readily  they  bid  for  your  merchandise.  Then 
there  were  six  that  you  wished  to  be  reserved  for  your  friend 
the  consignee,  and  six  for  the  captain  of  the  Seringapatam." 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped,"  said  the  young  man,  but  he 
thought  to  himself,  "it  seems  that  the  very  articles  that  I  could 
have  sold  to  advantage,  I  have  foolishly  disposed  of  in  another 
way.  A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  I've  made  of  it,  any  way.'' 

"  It  will  take  me  some  time  to  arrange  the  particulars  of  the 
sale,'7  said  the  merchant  when  they  had  reached  his  residence. 
'•  You  were  saying  that  you  wished  to  establish  an  agency  for 
the  sale  of  eye  snuff  in  the  city.  I  saw  Whampooa,  the  Chi 
nese  merchant  leave  the  Bazaar.  He  bought  most  of  the  snuff- 
suppose  you  see  him.  He  speaks  English.  I  don't  think 
you  will  do  any  thing  that  way  ;  but  he  may  be  willing  to 
make  some  arrangement.  I  will  give  you  his  directions.  He 
lives  in  the  Dobie  Tollah.  Your  servant  will  know  the  place, 
and  when  you  return  in  the  evening,  we  will  settle  up  matters 
in  regard  to  the  sale." 

Gerald  consented  to  this  arrangement,  and  desiring  his  ser 
vant  to  hire  a  palankeen,  he  took  with  him  the  presents  he  had 
reserved  for  the  consignee  and  the  captain,  intending  to  deliver 
them  after  he  had  called  upon  the  Chinese  merchant,  and  set 
out  for  Whampooa's  residence. 
9* 


202  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER    XVIK 

Which  tells  of  the  result  of  the  auction  sale,  and  what  happened  afterwards, 
and  also  shows  that  justice  is  awake  to  her  interests  in  India  as  well  as  in 
Europe  and  America. 

GERALD  found  Whampooa,  the  Chinese  merchant,  busily  en- 
gaged  in  examining  his  new  purchases,  which  he  had  already 
removed  from  the  Bazaar  to  his  store. 

He  was  taking  the  suit  of  armor  to  pieces,  several  of  his 
Chinese  friends  watching  the  operation  with  looks  of  unequivo 
cal  astonishment.  They  looked  at  the  young  man  with  an  ex 
pression  of  mingled  wonder  and  dismay,  and  he  was  soon  satis 
fied  from  their  questions  that  they  believed  the  armor  to  be 
the  image  of  one  of  the  Englishmen's  gods,  and  they  expressed 
a  sort  of  superstitious  horror  at  the  idea  of  his  having  sold  it 
and  afterwards  come  to  witness  its  desecration  by  the  hands  of 
strangers.  What  the  Chinese  were  going  to  do  with  it  Gerald 
could  not  conceive. 

The  whole  party  was  indulging  freely  in  the  eye  snuff,  its 
pungency  causing  the  tears  to  run  down  their  cheeks  as  they  in 
cessantly  snuffed  large  pinches  of  the  fragrant  mixture ;  but 
when  the  young  man  explained  his  errand  to  the  merchant,  and 
he  in  turn  explained  it  to  his  friends,  the  whole  group  burst 
into  uncontrollable  laughter,  and  the  snuff  getting  into  their 
eyes  and  down  their  throats,  a  ludicrous  scene  of  coughing, 
spitting,  and  swearing  heartily,  in  approved  Chinese,  ensued, 
which  looked  so  irresistibly  comical  that  Gerald  could  not 
longer  maintain  his  gravity,  and  greatly  to  the  indignation  of 
the  party,  he  in  his  turn  laughed  louder  than  the  rest. 


RETURNS    OF   THE   AUCTION   SALE.          203 

Quiet  being  at  length  restored,  Whampooa  explained  to  him 
that  his  friends  were  amused  at  the  idea  of  establishing  an 
agency  for  the  sale  of  eye  snuff  in  Calcutta,  when  he  had  pur 
chased  enough  of  the  mixture  to  last  for  a  life  time.  Gerald 
had  already  spoken  to  the  consignee  on  the  subject,  and  he  had 
given  him  no  encouragement,  so,  after  hearing  what  the  Chinese 
merchant  had  to  say,  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  this 
scheme  was  also  a  failure,  and  he  resolved  to  trouble  himself 
no  more  about  it. 

He  left  the  store,  and  after  taking  a  ride  through  the  city  for 
an  hour  and  looking  about  him,  he  returned  to  the  residence  of 
the  Portuguese  merchant,  who,  having  made  up  the  accounts 
of  the  sale,  was  ready  to  receive  him. 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Dalton,  you  will  be  satisfied,"  he  said,  when 
the  young  man  entered  the  store.  "  We  have  not  quite  come 
up  to  the  invoice  prices,  but  I  think  we  have  done  pretty  well. 
Pray  sit  down  and  let  us  examine  the  accounts  together." 

"  How  much  is  the  sum  total  ?"  said  Gerald. 

"  Seven  thousand  four  hundred  and  twenty-seven  rupees,  paid 
in  cash.  Deducting  my  commission,  it  leaves  you  seven  thou 
sand  two  hundred  and  nineteen  rupees." 

"  That  is  in  English  money— !" 

"  About  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  !"  explained  the 
merchant. 

"  How  much  f  said  the  young  man,  in  a  tone  of  such  angry 
astonishment  that  the  merchant  started  in  his  seat. 

"  About  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,"  he  repeated. 

"  Do  you  know  the  sum  total  of  the  invoice  ?"  sternly  de 
manded  the  young  man. 

"  Assuredly,"  replied  Mr,  De  Sylva,  who  had  recovered  from 
his  momentary  alarm,  and  looking  at  the  invoice  which  was  on 
the  table  before  him,  he  read  : — "  Four  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  forty-one  pounds." 

"  And  yet,"  thundered  Gerald,  "you  have  the  assurance  to 
tell  me  that  we  have  done  pretty  well.  Why  you  have  not 


204  THE    WANDERER. 

sold  the  goods  for  one-sixth  of  the  invoice  prices.  I  have  been 
swindled,  grossly  swindled." 

"  Hush,  hush,  young  gentleman,"  coolly  replied  the  mer 
chant.  "  You  must  not  use  such  language  as  that.  It  will  not 
do  here.  Did  I  not  warn  you  that  much  of  the  merchandise 
was  unsaleable,  and  that  all  was  badly  selected." 

"  I  do  not  deny  that,"  said  Gerald,  "  but  to  dispose  of  it  for 
such  a  contemptible  price  as  this  ;  it  is  too  bad." 

"  Have  I  not  your  written  order  to  dispose  of  your  mer 
chandise  by  auction,  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  for  such  prices 
as  I  could  obtain  f ' 

Gerald  could  not  deny  this,  so  he  remained  silent. 

"  If  you  are  dissatisfied,"  continued  the  merchant,  "  I  am 
quite  ready  to  return  you  the  goods  I  have  purchased  on  my 
own  account,  after  deducting  a  fair  sum  for  my  trouble." 

This  offer  Gerald  felt  was  adding  insult  to  injury  ;  but  he 
was  aware  that  he  had  been  too  precipitate,  and  that  he  could 
not  help  himself.  As  to  taking  back  the  portion  of  the  mer 
chandise  in  the  possession  of  the  Portuguese,  that  he  knew 
would  be  folly  ;  he  had  nowhere  to  store  it ;  knew  not  how  to 
dispose  of  it,  and  would  only  suffer  greater  loss. 

"  It's  done  and  can't  be  helped,"  he  said,  "  though  I  have  a 
poor  account  to  render  to  my  employers.  Let  me  see  how  the 
goods  have  been  disposed  of,  at  any  rate,  in  order  that  I  may 
know  how  to  divide  the  miserable  receipts,  and  apportion  the 
proper  share  to  each." 

"  That,  I  fear,  will  be  impossible,"  said  the  merchant. 

"  How  impossible  ?" 

"  Because  no  single  article  has  been  sold  separately.  Those 
who  have  purchased  bid  for  the  goods  in  lots ;  for  instance, 
here  is  Ram  Chowdah,  lot  No.  4,  two  fiddles,  1  box  cutlery,  2 
pieces  of  calicoes,  6  cases  of  eye  snuff,  and  1  case  of  pickles — 97 
rupees.  How  can  I  possibly  tell  what  was  the  individual 
amount  paid  for  any  one  article,  or  any  one  description  of 
articles  ?" 


A   TROPICAL   KAIN-STOKM.  205 

Gerald  was  perfectly  confounded  ;  he  knew  not  what  to  do, 
or  say — and  for  some  minutes  he  sat  the  very  image  of  per 
plexity.  At  length  rousing  himself,  he  requested  Mr.  De  Sylva 
to  pay  him  over  the  amount  due  him. 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  the  merchant ;  "  seven  thousand  two 
hundred  and  nineteen  rupees,  and  six  hundred  rupees  being  the 
sum  I  offered  for  the  package  of  one  hundred  tongues,  will  be 
seven  thousand  eight  hundred  and  nineteen  rupees.  Here  is 
the  money  ;  I  had  it  counted  out  for  you,  in  notes  on  the  Bank 
of  Calcutta,  before  you  returned.  Will  you  please  to  sign  this 
receipt  ?" 

Gerald  did  so,  and  putting  the  money  into  his  pocket  book, 
bade  the  merchant  good  day  ;  and  calling  his  servant,  procured 
a  palankeen  and  desired  to  be  taken  to  the  ghaut  at  which  the  Se- 
ringapatam  lay  moored,  being  resolved  to  remain  no  longer  tho 
guest  of  a  man  who  had,  as  he  felt,  so  shamefully  deceived  him. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  and  quite  dark  before  he  arrived 
at  the  ghaut,  and  dismissed  the  palankeen  bearers ;  the  clouds 
had  been  gathering  overhead  during  his  journey  from  the 
Portuguese  merchant's  store,  and  there  was  every  symptom  of 
an  approaching  storm. 

Lall,  the  servant,  was  evidently  uneasy  and  anxious  to  get 
under  shelter ;  but  Gerald,  who  had  never  yet  experienced  a 
tempest  in  the  tropical  latitudes,  treated  the  matter  lightly  and 
walked  leisurely  and  in  deep  thought  along  the  wharf  to  the 
landing  place  where  he  expected  to  find  a  native  passage  boat 
in  which  he  could  get  on  board  the  ship. 

"  Hurry,  Sahib,  hurry  ;  rain  come,"  said  Lall,  and  while  he 
spoke,  the  first  great,  warning  drops  began  to  fall.  Gerald  cast 
a  glance  upwards,  and  even  his  inexperienced  eye  could  dis 
cover  sufficient  warning  of  the  coming  storm  in  the  jetty  black 
ness  of  the  sky,  and  in  the  oppressive  atmosphere.  He  quicken 
ed  his  steps,  and  on  reaching  the  landing  called  loudly  to  the 
dingie  wallahs,  whom  he  could  hear  vociferating  sharply  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  ghaut  where  a  number  of  dingies  were 
lying  at  anchor;  but  he  received  no  response. 


206  THE   WANDERER. 

By  this  time  the  wind  had  risen,  and  the  rain  began  to  fall 
rapidly  ;  in  another  minute  it  \vas  pouring  in  torrents,  ap 
parently  a  continuous  stream  of  water  let  down  from  the  sluice 
gates  of  the  heavens  with  a  force,  inconceivable  to  those  who 
have  not  witnessed  such  a  deluge. 

Lall  united  his  voice  with  that  of  his  master  and  shouted 
loudly  in  Bengalee  for  a  boat,  but  still  there  was  no  response 
to  the  call.  The  dingie  wallahs,  at  another  time  troublesomely 
pertinacious  in  their  endeavors  to  procure  passengers,  had  shel 
tered  themselves  from  the  rain  in  the  small  cabins  of  their 
fragile  boats,  and  cared  not  to  encounter  the  storm. 

"  By  George  !  this  will  never  do  ;  I'm  as  wet  as  if  I  had  been 
standing  up  to  my  neck  in  water,  already,"  said  Gerald.  "  Lall, 
we  must  seize  one  of  those  dingies,  and  pull  on  board  our 
selves." 

"  How  can  get  'em,  Sahib,"  said  the  servant,  his  teeth  chat 
tering  with  fright  and  cold. 

"  There  is  one  we  can  spring  on  board  of  further  down  the 
ghaut,"  said  Gerald  ;  "  the  stern  is  close  in  shore.  I  could  see 
it  quite  plain  through  the  last  flash  of  lightning." 

They  bent  their  steps  in  the  direction  Gerald  had  pointed 
out,  the  young  man  taking  the  lead  himself,  and  the  servant 
almost  paralyzed  with  fright,  tremblingly  following  his  mas 
ter.  It  was  only  a  few  yards  distant,  yet  the  rain  was  so  blind 
ing,  and  the  night  so  dark — the  darkness  seeming  to  deepen 
after  every  successive  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  that  they  found 
great  difficulty  in  reaching  the  spot.  However,  having  succeeded, 
Gerald  sprang  on  board,  and  the  Hindoo  followed  him,  falling 
over  the  stern-post  of  the  dingie  in  the  attempt,  and  grazing  his 
shins  so  severely  that  he  yelled  with  agony.  The  dingie-wal- 
lahs  heard  them,  and  protested  wrathfully  against  the  seizure 
of  the  boat ;  but  Gerald  did  not  heed  them,  and  they  did  not 
offer  to  come  out  from  their  shelter.  Gerald,  assisted  by  the 
Hindoo  servant,  soon  succeeded  in  weighing  the  light  anchor, 
and  then  each  taking  a  paddle,  a  few  strokes  brought  them 


SEIZING   A   BOAT.  207 

alongside  the  ship,  which  lay  at  no  great  distance  from  the 
wharf.  Gerald  and  the  servant  stepped  on  the  accommoda 
tion  ladder,  and  soon  reached  the  deck,  leaving  the  dingie  to 
drift  from  alongside. 

The  dingie-wallahs,  however,  although  they  had  allowed  the 
boat  to  be  unmoored,  and  had  made  no  resistance  when  it  was 
paddled  away  from  the  ghaut,  had  no  idea  of  leaving  the  ship 
without  receiving  the  boat  hire,  and  scarcely  had  Gerald  and 
his  servant  reached  the  deck  before  three  naked,  athletic  fel 
lows  followed  them,  and  with  loud  vociferations  and  threaten 
ing  gestures,  demanded  their  pay. 

"  I  shan't  give  you  a  single  piece,"  said  Gerald,  when  the 
servant  had  interpreted  the  demand  made  upon  his  purse. 
"  You  refused  to  put  me  on  board  the  ship,  and  you  may  get 
your  pay  the  best  way  you  can." 

The  head  man  among  them  approached,  apparently  with  the 
intention  of  laying  violent  hands  upon  him,  which,  Gerald  per 
ceiving,  avoided  by  a  dexterous  movement,  and  closing  with 
him,  hurled  him  over  the  ship's  side  into  the  water.  The 
others,  seeing  the  fate  of  their  leader,  descended  rapidly  into 
the  boat,  which  still  lay  alongside,  and  their  companion  having 
scrambled  on  board,  they  paddled  rapidly  towards  shore,  vocif 
erating  loudly  and  threateningly  the  whole  distance. 

"They  gib  Sahib  too  much  trouble  to-morrow,"  said  the 
servant. 

"  Pooh  !"  exclaimed  Gerald  ;  "  let  them  do  what  they  like. 
"  It  was  their  duty  to  paddle  us  on  board,  and  as  they  refused  to 
do  so,  we  were  justified  in  taking  the  boat." 

The  rain  wras  still  descending  in  torrents,  and  all  the  crew 
were  under  shelter;  even  the  anchor  watch  were  not  to  be 
seen. 

Gerald  walked  into  the  cuddy,  and,  after  some  time,  suc 
ceeded  in  rousing  the  steward  ;  a  light  was  procured,  and  he 
and  the  servant  proceeded  to  change  their  drenched  clothing. 

When  the  young  man  took   off  his   thin  linen  jacket,  he 


208  THE   WANDERER. 

thought  for  the  first  time  of  his  money,  and  putting  his  hand 
into  his  pocket,  he  drew  forth  his  pocket-book  thoroughly  satu 
rated,  and  on  opening,  found  all  his  bank  notes  reduced 
apparently  to  the  consistence  of  pulp.  To  have  attempted 
to  separate  them  would  have  been  to  destroy  them  altogether, 
if  indeed  they  were  not  already  valueless.  There  was  no 
help  for  it  but  to  lay  them  aside  till  morning,  and  then  to 
endeavor  to  dry  them  in  the  sun,  and  separate  them,  if  pos 
sible. 

Vexed  as  he  was,  Gerald  was  so  fatigued  with  the  excite 
ments,  and  disappointments  and  mishaps  of  the  day,  that  he 
flung  himself  on  the  mattress  in  his  state-room,  where  he  soon 
forgot  all  his  troubles  in  sleep.  The  servant  followed  the 
example  of  his  master,  and  both  slept  soundly  till  morning' 

Gerald's  first  thought,  on  waking  in  the  morning,  was  about 
his  money.  It  was  a  melancholy  sight  to  look  at ;  but  after 
an  hour's  exposure  to  the  sun,  the  mass  of  pulp  was  perfectly 
dry,  and  with  the  assistance  of  the  steward,  he  proceeded  to 
separate  it :  this  was  a  difficult,  and  for  some  time,  appa 
rently,  a  hopeless  task  ;  but  at  length,  with  great  care  and 
patience,  they  succeeded  in  detaching  the  notes  with  tolerable 
success,  although  three  or  four,  amounting  in  value  to  nearly 
two  hundred  rupees,  were  completely  destroyed,  and  valueless, 
and  a  great  number  were  so  disfigured  that  the  young  man 
thought  it  advisable  to  go  with  them  immediately  to  the  bank 
and  get  them  exchanged. 

He  was  just  on  the  point  of  stepping  over  the  ship's  side  to 
go  on  shore,  when  a  police  boat  came  alongside  and  a  native 
officer  stepped  on  board,  accompanied  by  a  dingie  wallah,  who 
pointed  out  Gerald  to  the  policeman,  upon  which  the  latter 
handed  the  young  man  a  warrant  from  a  magistrate  charging 
him  with  illegally  seizing  a  dingie,  loosing  it  from  its  moor 
ings  against  the  wish  of  its  owner,  and  paddling  it  alongside 
the  ship,  and  subsequently  casting  it  adrift,  after  refusing  to 
pay  the  boatman ;  furthermore,  with  offering  violence  to  the 


JUSTICE    IN    INDIA.  209 

said  boatmen  and  forcibly  throwing  one  man  overboard,  there 
by  bruising  and  otherwise  injuring  him  him  severely  and  en 
dangering  his  life. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  accompany  the  officer  to  the 
police  court,  where  the  magistrate  was  then  sitting. 

"  What  is  this  charge  ?"  said  the  magistrate,  when  the  young 
man  was  brought  before  him. 

The  officer  explained,  and  the  dingie  wallah  whose  arm  was 
bandaged  and  who  pretended  to  be  in  great  pain,  added  his  com 
plaint. 

''  This  is  a  very  serious  affair,  young  man,"  said  the  magis 
trate.  "  Do  you  wish  an  interpreter  to  explain  the  charge 
made  by  the  dingie  wallah  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Gerald,  "  I  did  seize  the  boat  and  I  con 
fess  to  throwing  the  man  overboard,  after  he  had  assaulted  me." 

"  But  you  refused  him  payment  for  the  use  of  his  dingie 
after  having  taken  it  against  the  will  of  the  crew." 

"  I  did,  sir,  and  I  will  explain  the  reason  why  I  did  so,"  and 
Gerald  then  told  a  straightforward  story  to  the  magistrate, 
explaining  the  whole  affair.  "  You  had  some  cause  to  feel  an 
noyed,  young  man,"  said  the  magistrate  when  he  had  conclud 
ed  his  story,  "  but  that  gave  you  no  right  to  act  as  you  did. 
At  that  late  hour  of  the  night  the  boatmen  were  not  compelled 
by  law  to  let  their  boat  out  for  hire,  and  your  subsequent  con 
duct  on  board  the  ship  is  altogether  unjustifiable.  The  natives 
must  be  protected.  You  will  pay  a  fine  of  fifty  rupees  to  the 
court,  fifty  rupees  more  for  seizing  the  dingie  unlawfully,  and 
one  hundred  rupees  to  the  man  you  have  injured.  In  addition 
to  this,  the  expenses  of  the  warrant  and  the  fee  to  the  officer 
who  made  the  arrest  will  amount  to  ten  rupees.  You  must 
pay  two  hundred  and  ten  rupees  or  go  to  jail  for  two  months." 

Gerald  paid  the  money  without  saying  a  word  and  left  the 
Court.  He  then  proceeded  to  the  bank,  and  after  much  diffi 
culty,  many  objections  being  made,  he  succeeded  in  chang 
ing  the  money  he  had  left,  reduced  now  by  four  hundred  rupees, 


210  THE    WANDERER. 

two  hundred  having  been  mulcted  by  the  court,  and  two  hun 
dred  more  having  been  utterly  destroyed  by  the  rain. 

He  then  returned  on  board  the  ship  in  no  very  amiable  frame 
of  mind,  and  seating  himself  at  the  table  in  the  cabin,  com 
menced  to  write  to  Mr.  Hoffmann  in  relation  to  the  ill-starred 
"  venture,"  as  follows  : — 

"On  board  the  ship  Seringapatam, 

Calcutta  harbor \  June  \st^  18 — 
"  William  Hoffmann  Esq. 

Dear  Sir  :  I  arrived  safely  at  this  port,  a  few  days  since :  I  left 
the  ship  at  Diamond  Harbor,  in  company  with  the  captain  and 
passengers,  the  vessel  drawing  too  much  water  to  allow  of  her 
crossing  the  flats,  between  that  port  and  the  city.  However, 
she  was  speedily  lightened  of  a  portion  of  her  cargo,  and  towed 
up  to  the  city  on  the  following  day.  I  lost  no  time  in  making 
inquiry  with  respect  to  the  best  method  of  disposing  of  the 
merchandise  entrusted  to  my  charge.  The  captain  introduced 
me  to  his  consignee,  and  this  gentleman  advised  me  to  dispose 
of  the  goods  to  a  native  merchant  named  De  Sylva.  I  imme 
diately  sought  out  this  person,  and  after  having  introduced 
myself  to  him,  and  stated  the  nature  of  my  business,  request 
ed  to  know  if  he  were  willing  to  become  a  purchaser.  He 
recommended  a  sale  by  auction — a  method  of  disposing  of 
goods  very  prevalent  here.  Having  confidence  in  his  integrity 
— for  which  too  ready  confidence  you  will  doubtless  blame  me 
severely — I  assented  to  his  proposals,  and  signed  an  agreement 
to  that  effect.  When  however,  he  looked  over  the  invoice  and 
read  the  description  of  the  goods  he  pronounced  the  greater 
portion  unsaleable,  except  at  a  ruinous  loss.  Not  knowing  how 
to  act,  I  again  had  recourse  to  the  consignee,  Mr.  Thompson, 
also  referring  him  to  the  invoice.  His  opinion  was  the  same 
as  Mr.  De  Sylva's.  He  recommended  me  to  allow  Mr.  De  Syl 
va  to  dispose  of  them  at  the  very  earliest  opportunity,  cheering 
me  with  the  information  that  goods  sold  by  auction  sometimes 
brought  high  prices.  Accordingly  I  left  the  matter  in  De  Syl- 


LETTERS   FOR   HOME.  211 

va's  hands.  A  native  auction  sale  was  to  come  off  the  next 
day,  and  it  was  arranged  that  ray  merchandise  should  be  first 
brought  to  the  hammer,  and  knocked  down  to  the  highest  bid 
der. 

"  It  sold  readily.  It  was  knocked  down  with  a  vengeance, 
and  you  and  I  and  all  of  us  were  sold  with  the  goods. 

•'  I  am  almost  afraid  to  furnish  you  with  the  results  of  the 
sale,  but  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  do  so.  Your  goods,  in 
toto,  were  invoiced  at  £4741  8s.,  which  in  the  currency  of  this 
country  may  be  estimated  at  about  47,000  rupees.  The  en 
tire  bill,  the  little  venture  you  were  kind  enough  to  present  me 
with  in  the  bargain,  was  sold  for  7819  rupees,  or  about  £781 
— leaving  a  trifling  balance  against  us  of  £3,960,  or  thereabouts. 
You  may  think  I  am  writing  flippantly ;  but  I  grow  reckless 
when  I  think  of  the  sacrifice,  and  cannot  help  it.  The  worst  of 
it  is,  1  have  been  told,  since  the  goods  were  sold,  that  taking 
into  consideration  the  peculiar  character  and  the  quality  of  the 
assortment,  they  went  off  very  favorably  !  The  fact  is  that  a 
gross  mistake  was  made  in  selecting  the  articles.  Nearly  all 
are  almost  unmarketable  here,  and  those  which  are  not,  the 
market  is  already  glutted  with.  The  case  of  preserved  tongues 
would  have  sold  at  a  higher  rate  than  it  was  invoiced  at ;  but  I 
made  a  gross  blunder  in  giving  most  of  the  tongues  away,  in  or 
der,  as  I  was  led  to  anticipate,  that  the  other  merchandise  would 
sell  more  favorably.  A  pretty  mess  I  have  made  of  it,  as  you 
will  perceive.  This,  however,  is  not  all.  Out  of  the  gross 
proceeds  there  is  yet  £40  to  be  deducted,  I  having  had  to  pay 
£20,  or  200  rupees  for  kicking  a  rascally  Coolie  overboard, 
and  £20  more  having  been  ruined  in  consequence  of  the  money 
which  was  paid  in  bills,  having  got  wet  in  a  rain  storm,  which 
came  near  drowning  me,  and  which  nearly  rendered  the  whole 
of  the  paper  trash  valueless.  One  hundred  rupees  I  shall  re 
tain  for  my  own  use.  You  must  perceive  that  this  is  necessary, 
for  I  cannot  leave  myself  utterly  penniless  in  a  strange  land. 
The  residue,  amounting  to  £731,  I  shall  transmit  to  London 


212  THE    WANDERER. 

by  means  of  a  bill  of  exchange.  With  regard  to  the  division 
of  this  sum,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  it  must  be  left  to  your  own 
judgment.  The  sale  was  effected  in  such  a  complicated  manner 
(and  J,  not  knowing  a  word  of  the  language  was  unable  to  in 
terfere)  that  it  is  quite  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  give  any 
idea  as  to  the  amount  received  for  any  one  package — fiddles 
and  eye-snuff,  spades,  and  calicoes,  pictures  and  pickles,  hard 
ware  and  crockery,  were  all  jumbled  together  in  picturesque 
confusion.  What  your  particular  articles  sold  for,  I  cannot 
therefore  say,  but  I  believe  for  very  little.  The  natives  have 
no  idea  of  the  fine  arts,  though  the  banjos  appeared  to  tickle 
the  fancy  of  the  Chinaman  who  bought  them.  This  fellow  also 
bought  most  of  the  eye-snuff,  and  the  suit  of  armor,  in  one  lot, 
I  was  told,  and  De  Sylva  says  that  the  fellow  is  going  to  make 
a  god — a  goss,  I  believe  they  call  it — out  of  the  armor.  I 
called  upon  him,  after  the  sale,  in  order  to  try  to  establish  an 
agency  here  for  Mr.  Grimsby,  but  he  laughed  at  the  idea,  and 
said  there  was  enough  snuff  here  now,  to  last  for  a  quarter  of 
a  century.  So  that  endeavor  fell  through. 

"  Independently  of  the  bad  selection  that  was  made,  you 
labored  under  a  great  mistake  in  believing  that  there  was  a 
great  demand  for  goods  here.  There  is  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Most  of  the  articles  sent  out  from  England,  can  be  purchased 
here  for  less  than  they  can  be  bought  in  London  ;  and  as  to 
investing  the  money  I  have  received  in  goods,  that  may  find  a 
sale  in  England,  to  tell  the  plain  truth,  I  am  afraid  if  I  at 
tempt  such  a  thing,  I  shall  make  another  blunder.  I  know 
that  you  will  all  be  very  angry,  but  I  have  done  the  best  I 
could,  and  cannot  help  the  result. 

"  I  shall  not  return  home  in  the  Seringapatam,  but  I  have  not 
yet  decided  what  I  shall  do ;  indeed  I  scarcely  know  what  I 
can  do.  Should  I  ever  be  in  a  position  to  indemnify  you  for 
the  losses  you  have  sustained,  you  will,  perhaps  see  me  again ; 
if  not,  I  shall  probably  never  return  to  England. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  write  to  me,  at  all  events  ;  and  if  you 


LETTERS   FOR   HOME.  213 

direct  the  letter  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Thompson,  merchant,  &c., 
Cheringhee  Road,  wherever  I  may  be,  it  will  reach  me,  as  I 
shall  leave  directions  with  him  to  forward  it  to  me. 

"  Deeply  regretting  the  result  of  this  unfortunate  transaction, 
I  subscribe  myself,  dear  sir, 

Still  very  respectfully,  yours, 

GERALD  DALTON." 

Having  finished  this  task,  Gerald  applied  himself  to  writing 
a  letter  to  his  mother,  in  which  he  briefly  informed  her  of  the 
result  of  his  adventure,  and  told  her  that  he  had  resolved  to 
remain  abroad  for  some  time,  in  hopes  of  retrieving  this  mis 
fortune.  He  begged  her  not  to  grieve  on  his  account,  since  he 
hoped  that  all  would  be  well  in  the  end,  and,  assuring  her  of 
his  unalterable  respect  and  affection,  he  promised  faithfully  to 
write  again,  and  let  her  know  where  he  was,  and  what  he  was 
doing,  as  soon  as  he  himself  arrived  at  any  conclusion.  In  a 
postscript,  he  requested  her  to  let  him  know  whether  anything 
had  yet  been  heard  of  or  from  Alice — intimating  further,  that 
if  such  were  the  case,  it  would  have  a  tendency  to  hasten  his 
return. 

He  also  wrote  to  the  vicar,  giving  him  a  brief  account  of 
his  proceedings ;  and  then  hastening  on  shore,  he  went  to  the 
bank,  and  procured  a  bill  of  exchange  on  London,  for  the 
amount  mentioned  in  Mr.  Hoffmann's  letter.  After  which, 
having  deposited  his  letters  in  the  post-office,  he  strolled  list 
lessly  along  the  streets,  attended  by  his  servant,  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  esplanade,  pondering  as  he  walked,  upon  his  pros 
pects,  and  endeavoring  to  come  to  some  conclusion  regarding 
his  future  proceedings. 

"  The  world  was  all  before  him  where  to  choose," 
And "  Providence  his  (only)  guide." 


214  THE   WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  very  short  chapter,  which  shows  how  pride  sometimes  overcomes  right 
and  reason,  and  severs  its  possessor  from  all  that  ho  holds  most  dear. 

WHILE  strolling  along  the  esplanade,  gazing  listlessly  upon 
the  river  and  its  motley  show  of  vessels  of  every  description, 
and  of  every  nation,  from  the  heavy  English  East  Indiaman  to 
the  picturesque  Malay  prou,  Gerald  met,  accidentally,  Captain 
King,  of  the  Seringapatam. 

"Ah!  Mr.  Dalton,"  was  the  captain's  exclamation:  "glad 
to  see  you  ;  why  your  thoughts  appear  to  be  wool-gathering  ; 
what  is  it  so  earnestly  engages  your  attention  on  that  particu 
lar  spot  on  the  river  upon  which  your  eyes  have  been  fixed  so 
attentively  for  the  last  five  minutes  ?" 

"  Nothing,  captain,  nothing,"  replied  the  young  man.  "  My 
thoughts,  as  you  say,  were  wool-gathering  just  then ;  I'm  think 
ing  what  I  shall  do  next." 

"  How  do  you  mean  !" 

"  I  mean  where  will  be  my  next  destination." 

"  Why,  you  will  of  course  return  to  London  with  me  on 
board  the  Seringapatam." 

"  No,"  replied  Gerald  ;  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to 
return  to  England,  just  now." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !"  said  the  captain ;  "  you  are  disheartened  at 
the  failure  of  the  'venture'  you  had  in  your  charge." 

"  You  have  heard  then,"  said  Gerald,  "  of  the  ridiculous 
sacrifice  I  have  been  compelled  to  make  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  heard  of  it  just  now,   from  Mr.  Thompson,  but  I 


A   FRESH   RESOLVE.  215 

could  have  tolel  you  as  much  during  the  passage  out.  I  once 
got  sight  of  your  invoice,  and  I  knew  as  soon  as  I  read  it,  that 
your  venture  would  prove  a  failure ;  but  it's  no  fault  of  yours. 
It  serves  the  simpletons  right  who  dispatched  you  with  such  a 
pack  of  rubbish." 

"Why  did  you  not  warn  me  of  the  result?"  asked  the 
young  man. 

"There  was  no  occasion  to  do  so.  It  would  have  dis 
couraged  you,  and  answered  no  purpose.  '  Sufficient  for  the 
day  is  the  evil  thereof,'  is  a  text  I've  often  heard  my  old 
mother  repeat,  and  it's  a  maxim  I  generally  allow  to  guide 
me.  But  it's  folly  for  you  to  take  the  matter  so  much  to 
heart.  You've  done  the  best  you  could  do;  it's  no  use  sighing 
over  what  can't  be  helped.  Cheer  up,  forget  all  about  it,  and 
make  your  home  aboard  the  ship,  'till  we  sail,  and  then  return 
with  me  to  London." 

"  No,"  replied  Gerald,  "  my  mind  is  made  up  on  that  point. 
I  shall  not  go  back  to  the  drudgery  of  the  shop  again,  I  pro 
mise  you." 

"  A  wilful  man  must  have  his  way,"  said  the  captain  : 
"  however,  what  do  you  intend  doing  T' 

"  That  I  don't  know  yet,"  replied  Gerald.  "  I  have  been 
thinking  of  going  to  Ceylon.  I  have  relations  there  ;  the  diffi 
culty  is  to  find  a  ship  that's  going  to  that  island." 

"  Ships  occasionally  sail  for  Ceylon  from  here,"  replied  the 
captain,  "and  if  you  can  wait  long  enough,  as  you  have  friends 
in  Ceylon,  and  will  not  return  to  England,  I  doirt  know  that 
it  isn't  the  wisest  thing  you  can  do ;  but  you'll  find  the  pas 
sage-money  come  pretty  high." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Gerald  ;  "  but  that  doesn't  trouble  me 
much.  I  have  very  little  money,  but  I'll  work  my  passage, 
some  way  or  other ;  get  a  berth  as  steward,  or  assist  the  cook, 
or  anything  that  comes  to  hand." 

"  You'll  not  find  that  very  agreeable,"  said  the  captain, 
u  particularly  as  you  haven't  been  used  to  it ;  but  if  that  be 
your  resolve,  I  think  I  can  manage  the  matter  for  you.  The 


216  THE    WANDERER. 

Firefly  is  going  to  sail  in  the  course  of  next  week  for  Borneo 
and  the  Phillipine  Islands,  and  on  her  return,  she  will  sail  for 
Trincomallee.  At  what  part  of  the  island  do  your  relatives 
reside  ?" 

"  At  Colombo,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Ah,  that's  on  the  western  side.  However,  you  can  easily 
get  to  Colombo  from  Trincomallee.  Would  you  like  to  go 
the  voyage  ?" 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  responded  Gerald. 

"  Well,  then,  I  know  the  owners  and  the  captain,  and  if  you 
have  no  objections  to  take  the  berth  of  steward,  though  I  warn 
you,  you  won't  fancy  it,  I  think  I  can  procure  it  for  you." 

"  I  will  accept  it,  gladly,"  responded  the  young  man. 

"  Go  aboard  the  ship,  then,  and  sleep  to-night,  I  shall  be 
aboard  after  tiffin  to-morrow  ;  meanwhile  I'll  see  the  owners 
and  the  captain,  and  when  you  meet  me  again,  I'll  let  you 
know  what  success  1  have  met  with." 

Gerald  thanked  the  captain,  and  the  latter  excusing  himself, 
by  saying  that  he  had  to  meet  the  consignee,  left  the  young 
man  to  enjoy  his  walk  and  his  ruminations  alone. 

It  was  not  customary  for  any  person  but  the  mates  and  the 
"crew  to  live  on  board  the  ship,  in  port,  but  Gerald  was  very 
glad  to  embrace  the  captain's  offer.  He  did  not  choose  to 
quarter  himself  any  longer  on  Mr.  De  Sylva,  and  he  felt  a 
degree  of  repugnance  to  trespassing  on  the  hospitality  of  the 
consignee,  and  yet  his  stock  of  money  was  insufficient  to  enable 
him  to  maintain  himself  at  even  the  wretched  apologies  for 
hotels  that  were  then  to  be  found  in  Calcutta,  kept  by  natives 
of  the  lowest  class,  and  frequented  only  by  sailors  out  of  em 
ployment.  He  strolled  about  till  nightfall,  and  then  hired  a 
boat  and  went  on  board  the  Seringapatam,  having  in  the  first 
place,  greatly  to  the  regret  of  the  native  servant  he  had  en 
gaged,  paid  him  his  wages,  and  discharged  him. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  next  morning,  the  captain  came 
on  board. 


A    NEW    ENGAGEMENT.  <"  21t 

"I  have  seen  the  owners  of  the  Firefly,"  he  said,  address 
ing  Gerald,  as  soon  as  he  saw  him ;  "  and  the  captain,  too. 
The  owners  make  no  objection,  and  the  captain  is  willing  to 
receive  you  as  his  steward.  The  vessel  sails  this  day  week, 
and  you  can  go  on  board  and  commence  duty  at  once,  if  you 
choose.  The  vessel,  however,  returns  to  Calcutta  before  sail 
ing  for  Ceylon." 

"  I  don't  care  for  that,"  said  Gerald.  "  How  long  does  the 
captain  expect  to  be  absent  on  this  cruise  ?" 

"  Probably  six,  eight,  or  ten  months.  It's  impossible  to 
say,  as  he  is  going  on  a  trading  voyage  among  the  islands." 
"That's  all  the  better,"  said  Gerald  ;  "  I  have  written  letters 
to  England,  and  I  expect  answers  to  arrive  at  Calcutta  in  the 
course  of  eight  months.  I  will  join  the  Firefly  to-morrow." 

"As  you  please,"  responded  the  captain ;  "  but  think  once 
again  before  you  make  the  engagement,  whether  you  had  bet 
ter  not  return  to  England  with  me." 

"  As  I  have  told  you  before,  my  mind  is  made  up  on  that 
point,"  said  Gerald. 

The  captain  turned  away  to  give  some  directions  to  the  chief 
mate  relating  to  the  ship,  and  Gerald  descended  to  the  cabin 
to  pack  up  his  clothes,  and  prepare  for  his  new  situation. 

The  next  day  he  joined  the  brig  Firefly,  signed  articles,  and 
his  name  was  duly  enrolled  in  the  list  of  the  crew,  which  con 
sisted  chiefly  of  Lascars  and  Malays ;  and  the  week  afterwards 
the  vessel  sailed  for  Borneo,  Gerald  having  left  directions  with 
Mr.  Thompson  to  receive  any  letters  that  might  arrive  for  him. 
from  England,  and  to  retain  them  until  the  return  of  the  Fire 
fly  to  Calcutta. 

It  was  not  without  feelings  of  regret,  after  all,  that  the 
young  man  passed  the  Seringapatam,  in  the  brig,  as  the  latter 
was  being  towed  down  the  river.  It  was  like  placing  a  gulf 
between  himself  and  his  mother,  over  which  it  might  be  long 
ere  he  could  cross — which  he  might  never  cross  again.  It  was 
separating  the  last  link  which  bound  him  to  home — for  Eng- 
10 


218  THE   WANDERER. 

land  was  home  to  him,  although  it  was  not  his  native  land. 
He  thought,  too,  of  Alice,  and  what  little  prospect  there  was 
of  his  seeing  her  again  ;  but  his  pride  was  too  great  to  allow 
of  his  returning  home,  unsuccessful ;  and  though  he  knew  that 
he  was  acting  wrong,  he  felt  that  the  die  was  cast,  and  now  he 
was  a  wanderer  indeed. 


THE   ABDUCTION.  219 


CHAPTERXIX. 

Which  relates  to  Alice  Thornton,  and  lifts  the  veil,  without  however,  ex 
plaining  the  cause  of  her  mysterious  disappearance  from  Herrington. 

LEAVING  Gerald  to  purse  his  wandering  course,  I  will  make  a 
retrograde  movement  and  bring  back  my  story  to  the  date  of 
Alice  Thornton's  disappearance  from  Herrington. 

As  the  reader  is  aware,  she  was  strolling  along  the  pathway 
on  the  cliffs  on  the  day  in  question,  and  was  just  thinking  of 
returning  homewards,  when  she  heard  footsteps  behind  her, 
and  looking  back,  she  saw  a  gentleman  approaching  her.  She 
stepped  aside  in  order  to  give  him  room  to  pass ;  but  he 
slackened  his  pace  and  addressing  her,  asked  if  her  name  was 
not  Alice  Thornton. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  surprised  at  the  question  being  put 
to  her  by  a  person  she  had  never  before  seen,  and  somewhat 
alarmed,  although  the  stranger's  appearance  was  gentlemanly 
and  his  manner  respectful. 

"  I  thought  so  from  your  strong  resemblance  to  your  mo 
ther,"  continued  the  stranger,  "  You  don't  know  me  1  How 
is  it  possible  you  should,  poor  child  1"  he  added,  "  when  you 
have  never  before  seen  me  1  Did  you  ever  hear  your  father 
speak  of  your  uncle,  your  mother's  brother  ?  I  am  he." 

"  I  have  not,"  replied  Alice.  "  My  father  died  when  I  was 
little  more  than  an  infant,  and  my  mother  I  don't  recollect." 

"  True,  true,"  said  the  stranger,  "  but  you  know  what  was 
your  mother's  maiden  name  V 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  was  Craddock,  I  believe.     I  don't  know  that  I 


220  THE   WANDERER. 

was  ever  told  so,  but  I  have  a  locket  that  belonged  to  my  mother 
It  is  all  I  possess  as  a  memento  of  her,  and  Craddock  is  en 
graved  upon  it." 

"  It  contains  two  locks  of  hair,  plaited  together,"  said  the 
stranger.  "  Will  you  permit  me  to  see  it1?  Have  you  it  with 
you  r 

Alice  hesitated  for  some  moments.  She  knew  the  stranger 
could  employ  force  in  that  lonely  place,  if  he  chose :  but  his 
manner  was  so  respectful,  his  appearance  so  engaging,  that  she 
did  not  fear  this,  and  yet  she  hesitated  to  draw  forth  the  lock 
et  and  show  it  to  a  total  stranger. 

The  gentleman  observed  this  hesitation.  "You  think  me 
rude.  I  appear  so,"  he  said,  "  in  making  such  a  request :  do 
as  you  please,  I  shall  not  urge  the  matter  ;  but  as  I  have  told 
you,  I  am  your  uncle  and  the  brother  of  your  deceased  mother. 
The  hair  in  that  locket  consists  of  mine  and  hers." 

Alice  drew  forth  the  locket  and  unfastening  the  ribbon  by 
which  it  was  attached  to  her  neck,  placed  it  in  the  stranger's 
hands. 

He  took  it,  and  touching  the  spring,  gazed  long  upon  the  relic 
within  :  "  Poor  Alice  !"  he  said,  with  visible  emotion,  as,  clasp 
ing  the  trinket  again  he  restored  it  to  the  young  lady. 

"  I  have  called  upon  the  vicar  of  this  parish,  to-day,"  he 
continued,  after  a  pause.  "  I  brought  a  letter  to  him  from  Mr. 
Ashley  with  whom  you  lived  after  your"  father's  death." 

"Have  you  lately  come  from  India1?"  said  Alice,  interested 
in  what  the  stranger  had  said,  and  asking  a  question  for  the 
first  time. 

"  I  have.  It  is  just  five  months  ago  since  I  left  Colombo, 
where  Mr.  Ashley  is  now  settled." 

"  Was  he  well  1  and  his  family,  were  they  all  well  1"  said 
Alice. 

"  All  well,  and  very  comfortably  settled  when  I  saw  them," 
replied  the  stranger. 

They  had  turned  off  from  the  narrow  path  on  the  cliff  and 
were  now  approaching  the  high  road  to  Dover. 


THE   ABDUCTION.  221 

"  You  are  fond  of  walking,  I  think,"  returned  the  gentleman. 
"You  have  yet  a  long  walk  before  you,  to  Herrington." 

"  Only  about  two  miles,"  replied  Alice.  "  It  is  nothing.  I 
am  accustomed  to  walking." 

"  Nevertheless,  a  ride  would  not  perhaps  be  unacceptable. 
I  have  a  carriage  in  waiting  close  by,  which  I  quitted  half  an 
hour  ago  to  look  at  the  view  from  the  cliff.  If  you  choose  we 
will  return  to  Herrington  together." 

Half  afraid  of  she  knew  not  what,  and  yet  unwilling  to  re 
fuse  the  invitation  given  in  so  kind  a  manner,  Alice  hesitating 
ly  allowed  the  stranger  to  assist  her  into  the  carriage,  which 
they  had  now  reached,  and  which  she  observed  was  a  post- 
chaise.  The  gentleman  followed,  and  the  post-boy  mounting 
his  horse,  they  started  off  in  the  direction  of  Herrington  :  but 
instead  of  turning  off  when  they  reached  the  by -lane  which 
led  to  Herrington,  the  post-boy  continued  to  follow  the  high 
road. 

Sometime  elapsed  before  Alice  discovered  the  mistake,  as 
she  supposed,  the  gentleman  having  kept  her  in  conversation  : 
but  at  length  she  remarked  that  they  had  passed  the  by-lane, 
and  were  going  in  the  opposite  direction  from  Herrington. 

"  I  know  it,  Alice,"  replied  the  gentleman.  "You  will  allow 
me  to  call  you  Alice,  I  hope,  for  you  are  my  niece,  and  will 
be  to  me  henceforward,  I  trust,  a  daughter.  I  am  going  to 
Dover." 

"  I  must  return  to  Herrington,"  said  the  young  lady,  much 
alarmed.  "  Mrs.  Dalton  will  be  expecting  me,  and  will  be 
alarmed  at  my  absence.  Permit  me  to  alight  here,  or  if  you 
are  indeed  my  uncle,  return  with  me  to  Herrington,  and  call 
on  Mrs.  Dalton.  She  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Not  to-night,  Alice.  You  must  go  with  me  to  Dover. 
There  are  reasons  for  my  acting  thus,  which  by  and  by  will  be 
explained  to  you,  and  which  will  be  satisfactory." 

"  I  must  return  to  Herrington,"  said  Alice.  "  It  is  cruel,  un 
mannerly,  ungentlemanly  to  deceive  me  thus,"  and  as  she  spoke 
hse  endeavored  to  unfasten  the  door  of  the  post-chaise. 


222  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Alice,"  said  the  gentleman,  arresting  her  hand,  "  are  you 
mad  1  If  you  were  to  spring  from  the  carriage  while  it  is  go 
ing  at  this  rapid  pace,  you  would  kill  yourself  instantly.  No 
harm  is  intended  you.  On  the  contrary  I  intend  to  do  you  a 
service  for  which  you  will  one  day  be  grateful.  You  cannot — 
must  not  leave  the  carriage  or  escape  from  me.  I  have  re 
turned  from  India  expressly  to  find  you,  and  a  fortune  depends 
upon  my  endeavors.  I  will  tell  you  this  much, — Alice,  you  are 
an  heiress." 

The  young  lady  looked  wildly  round.  She  saw  that  escape 
was  hopeless.  They  might  ride  for  miles  on  that  country  road 
at  that  hour,  without  meeting  with  any  one  able  to  render  her 
assistance  if  she  were  to  call  for  it,  or  if  her  cries  could 
be  heard.  She  trembled  with  fear  and  agitation,  alternately 
threatening  and  imploring,  and  at  length  did  what  most  young 
ladies  in  her  situation  would  have  done,  burst  into  a  passion 
of  tears. 

Her  uncle,  Mr.  Craddock,  for  such  he,  in  fact,  was,  spoke  to 
her  kindly,  and  tried  every  means  to  console  her,  but  in  vain. 
Her  only  hope  was  in  making  her  escape,  and  throwing  her 
self  on  the  protection  of  the  first  person  she  met  when  the 
carriage  should  stop  at  Dover. 

But  the  town  was  reached  and  the  post  chaise  rattled  along 
the  streets,  past  the  hotels,  and  down  to  the  piers,  at  which 
the  French  packet  was  lying.  Here  it  stopped,  and  the  post 
boy  alighted  and  opened  the  door,  Mr.  Craddock  having  in  the 
meantime  warned  his  niece  that  resistance  would  be  useless. 

He  alighted  from  the  vehicle  and  held  out  his  hand  to  assist 
the  young  lady  in  her  descent.  She  also  alighted  and  looking 
around  saw  only  the  crowd  of  seamen  and  laborers  putting  the 
last  packages  of  luggage  on  board  the  packet  which  was  just 
about  to  sail.  All  were  too  busy  to  heed  her  had  she  called  upon 
them  to  do  so  ;  there  was  too  much  confusion  and  noise  had  she 
attempted  to  call,  to  allow  of  her  voice  being  heard.  Mr. 
Craddock  guarded  her  very  closely,  as  he  led  her  on  board  the 


THE   ABDUCTION.  223 

vessel ;  but  his  precaution  was  needless ;  before  she  reached 
the  deck  he  felt  her  weight  fall  heavily  upon  his  arm — the  poor 
girl  had  fainted.  lie  appeared  to  have  anticipated  this,  for  he 
remarked  to  the  captain  of  the  packet  as  he  bore  her  tenderly 
across  the  deck  and  into  the  cabin,  that  this  was  the  sick  lady 
for  whom  he  had  engaged  a  passage  to  Calais,  the  day  before, 
and  he  requested  that  functionary  to  lead  him  to  the  most 
comfortable  cabin  that  was  disengaged. 

The  captain  and  crew,  waiters  and  servants,  were  all  French, 
as  were  the  majority  of  the  passengers,  and  Alice  after  having 
been  carried  to  the  cabin  was  attended  by  a  French  steward 
ess,  whose  care,  assisted  by  the  attentions  of  Mr.  Craddock, 
soon  restored  her  to  consciousness.  Her  uncle  remained  with 
her  for  a  couple  of  hours,  during  which  period  the  packet  had 
put  to  sea.  He  urged  her  by  every  persuasion  he  thought  like 
ly  to  console  her,  to  calm  her  unavailing  grief,  assuring  her 
again  and  again,  that  it  was  for  her  welfare  he  was  acting  ;  but 
at  length,  growing  weary  of  his  useless  efforts,  he  left  her  in 
charge  of  the  stewardess  and  went  upon  deck. 

The  woman's  countenance  and  actions  showed  that  she  sus 
pected  something  was  wron^ ;  but  Mr.  Craddock  had  quieted 
any  scruples  of  conscience  she  might  have  felt  with  the  present 
of  a  heavy  fee ;  and  even  had  she  been  inclined  or  able  to  serve 
the  young  lady,  communication  was  impossible,  since  neither 
she  nor  Alice  understood  a  word  of  each  other's  language. 
However,  she  was  kind  and  attentive — even  officiously  so — 
and  Alice  after  weeping  in  silence  for  hours  at  length  wept 
herself  to  sleep. 

When  she  awoke  in  the  morning  the  packet,  which  had 
"lain  to  "  during  a  greater  portion  of  the  night,  in  consequence 
of  the  foggy  weather,  was  being  moored  alongside  the  pier  at 
Calais. 

The  first  act  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Craddock  after  having  procured 
an  apartment  and  ordered  breakfast  to  be  prepared  at  the 
Hotel  d'Angleterre,  was  to  procure  a  supply  of  such  necessary 


224  THE    WANDERER. 

articles  of  clothing,  as  Alice  needed  to  secure  her  comfort  during 
the  remainder  of  the  journey  that  lay  before  her,  of  which 
Calais  was  only  the  first  stage.  These  articles  were  procured 
without  regard  to  expense,  and  after  breakfast  Mr.  Craddock, 
who  seemed  anxious  to  exert  every  effort  to  reconcile  his 
niece  to  her  abduction  from  home,  proposed  a  walk  round  the 
town,  at  the  same  time  he  placed  a  well-filled  purse  in  her 
hands,  telling  her  not  to  spare  the  money,  but  to  purchase  any 
thing  that  pleased  her  fancy,  regardless  of  the  cost.  Alice 
refused  the  purse  but  accepted  the  clothing,  which  she  really 
needed,  since,  as  the  reader  is  aware,  she  had  been  carried  from 
home  with  no  articles  of  attire  beyond  what  she  put  on  for  an 
afternoon's  walk  ;  besides,  the  dress  she  wore  was  not  of  a  ma 
terial  that  corresponded  with  the  gentlemanly  habiliments  of 
her  uncle.  This  fact  at  this  time,  probably  troubled  Alice 
very  little ;  but  doubtless  it  had  its  weight  with  Mr.  Craddock. 

The  young  lady  begged  for  permission  to  write  to  Mrs. 
Dal  ton,  and  to  let  her  know  the  circumstances  connected  with 
her  disappearance;  or  at  least  to  let  her  know  that  she  was 
alive  and  well  and  that  no  accident  had  befallen  her.  But  this 
petition  was  peremptorily  refused.  It  would  serve  no  purpose 
he  said.  It  would  only  cause  greater  anxiety.  By  and  by 
she  should  write,  when  they  had  reached  their  journey's  end, 
but  not  now. 

After  dinner  the  diligence  was  to  start  for  Paris.  Mr.  Crad 
dock  had  engaged  the  coupe  for  himself  and  his  neice,  and  be 
fore  nightfall  they  were  several  leagues  on*  their  way  to  the 
French  capital.  Amiens  was  reached  in  time  for  breakfast  on 
the  following  morning,  and  in  the  evening  the  diligence  entered 
the  porte  St.  Denis  and  the  travellers  were  in  Paris. 

Mr.  Craddock  remained  at  the  capital  several  weeks,  in 
order  to  afford  his  young  charge  every  opportunity  of  visiting 
the  most  attractive  sights.  The  Louvre — L'Eglise  de  la  Made 
line — Pere  la  Chaise — the  Luxembourg — Versailles — every 
thing  that  was  worth  visiting  in  the  city  and  its  environs  was 


THE   ABDUCTION.  225 

visited,  and  Mr.  Craddock,  who  spoke  the  language  perfectly, 
and  who  had  once  resided  for  some  months  in  Paris,  proved 
himself  a  valuable  and  interesting  cicerone.  His  manner  was 
so  uniformly  kind  to  his  niece,  and  his  desire  to  please  her  so 
apparent,  that  the  young  lady  gradually  resumed  her  custo 
mary  cheerfulness,  and  learnt  to  take  pleasure  in  her  uncle's 
society,  although  she  still  continued  to  beseech  him  to  allow 
her  to  write  to  Mrs.  Dalton,  telling  him  that  if  she  were  allowed 
that  privilege,  she  would  be  quite  contented  to  remain  with 
him  ;  but  to  all  her  requests  and  remonstrances,  in  relation  to 
the  subject,  he  turned  a  deaf  ear,  merely  telling  her  that  by- 
and-by  she  should  do  so,  but  not  now — he  had  reasons  that  he 
would  one  day  explain  for  his  actions.  Neither  had  he  yet 
informed  her  of  the  cause  which  had  led  him  to  act  so  myste 
riously  in  carrying  her  from  her  home.  All  she  was  told  was, 
that  she  was  an  heiress,  but  that  peculiar  circumstances  in  re 
lation  to  the  wealth  that  would  one  day  be  her's,  required  this 
secrecy. 

At  length  they  left  Paris  for  Orleans,  at  which  place  Mr. 
Craddock  informed  his  niece  he  intended  to  leave  her  at  school 
for  a  year  or  two,  while  he  went  abroad  upon  urgent  business. 

"  You  know.  Alice,"  he  said,  "  that  your  education  has  ne 
cessarily  been  limited.  When  I  say  this,  [  mean  that  you 
have  not  been  taught  those  accomplishments  which  will  be  es 
sential  to  you  in  the  social  position  in  which  you  will  hereafter 
be  required  to  move.  So  far  as  regards  a  plain,  substantial, 
useful  education,  Mrs.  Dalton  has  done  her  part  well.  One 
day  you  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  recompensing  her  for  her 
care  and  affection." 

Whenever  any  allusion  was  made  to  Mrs.  Dalton,  Alice  was 
always  deeply  affected.  Her  uncle  told  her  that  she  ought  to 
strive  to  conquer  this  feeling.  Mrs.  Dalton,  as  well  as  Mr. 
Ashley,  had  been  kind  to  her,  he  said ;  they  had  been  very 
kind,  and  merited  her  warmest  gratitude,  but  they  were  not  in 
any  way  related  to  her,  and  she  must  strive  to  form  new  and 
closer  attachments. 


226  THE    WANDERER. 

She  often  thought  of  Gerald,  and  wondered  whether  he 
thought  so  much  of  her,  and  whether  he  lamented  her  mys 
terious  disappearance.  "  Is  he  still  in  London,"  she  would 
ask  herself,  "  or  has  he  returned  again  to  Herrington  ?  Shall 
I  ever  see  him  again  ?"  but  she  had  never  mentioned  his  name 
to  Mr.  Craddock. 

Gerald  had  given  her  a  miniature  of  himself  the  day  before 
he  left  Herrington  for  London  :  it  was  a  cheap  thing  enough, 
and  had  been  taken  in  the  United  States  when  he  was  about 
four  years  of  age.  If  it  had  been  like  him  then,  it  bore  very 
little  resemblance  to  him  as  Alice  had  last  seen  him  ;  still  she 
cherished  the  trifle,  and  always  wore  it  in  her  bosom. 

One  day,  while  she  was  still  in  Paris,  her  uncle  came  unex 
pectedly  into  the  room  in  which  she  was  seated,  She  held  the 
miniature  in  her  hand,  and  was  gazing  at  it  earnestly — so 
earnestly,  that  she  was  not  aware  of  his  approach  until  he  stood 
behind  her  chair.  A  tear  had  fallen  from  her  eyelid,  and  par 
tially  obscured  the  portrait.  It  was  the  first  time  her  uncle 
had  seen  it,  and  after  standing  behind  the  chair  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  he  said : — 

"  What  have  you  there,  my  love,  that  so  interests  you  1 
whose  portrait  is  that  1" 

Until  he  spoke,  Alice  had  been  unaware  of  his  presence. 
She  started,  blushed,  and  replied  that  it  was  a  miniature  of 
Mrs.  Dal  ton's  son,  Gerald. 

A  frown,  such  as  she  had  never  before  seen  upon  her  uncle's 
face,  corrugated  his  brow,  and  he  turned  pale  with  anger. 
"  Give  it  to  me,"  he  said — "  I  insist  upon  your  casting  away 
such  silly  baubles — give  it  to  me,  instantly."  Alice  was 
frightened,  and  starting  from  her  chair,  and  confronting  her 
uncle,  she  looked  up  in  his  face,  holding  her  breath,  her  face  as 
pale  with  affright  as  his  with  passion. 

Perceiving  her  terror,  and  fearing  he  had  gone  too  far,  and 
had  undone  that  which  he  had  been  for  weeks  attempting  to  do — 
to  gain  her  confidence  and  affection,  he  said,  in  a  milder  tone : — 


A    SECRET   DISCOVERED.  22f 

"I  am  not  angry,  Alice ;  but  you  know,  my  love,  that  I  wish 
you  to  forget  these  people ;  but  you  can  keep  the  bauble  if  you 
choose,  only  do  not,  for  appearance  sake,  wear  it  round  your 
neck.  Let  me  see  it,  if  you  please." 

Alice  took  the  ribbon  to  which  it  is  confined,  from  her  neck, 
and  handed  him  the  miniature. 

"  A  child,  a  mere  child,"  he  said,  after  looking  at  it.  "  I 
knew  that  Mrs.  Dalton  had  a  son  in  London,  but  he  is  much 
older  than  this."  "  Yes,  uncle,"  said  Alice  ;  "  he  is  about  the 
same  age  as  I  am.  That  portrait  was  taken  in  America,  when 
he  was  a  child." 

"  I  have  never  spoken  to  you,  Alice,  of  Mrs.  Dalton's  son," 
said  her  uncle,  "  because  I  thought  you  were  almost  a  stranger 
to  him,  and  could  have  no  interest  in  him  ;  besides,  I  did  not 
wish  to  keep  alive  these  old  recollections  which  your  present 
prospects  call  upon  you  to  obliterate  from  your  memory.  The 
boy  went  to  London  a  long  time  ago,  did  he  not  TJ 

"  Only  a  few  months  since,  uncle,"  said  Alice.  "  He  gave 
me  this  as  a  keepsake,  when  he  was  about  to  leave  Herring- 
ton." 

"  And  you  have  worn  it  round  your  neck  ever  since  ?"  said 
Mr.  Craddock,  with  difficulty  restraining  his  anger. 

"  Yes,  uncle." 

"  My  love,  you  must  lay  it  aside  ;  keep  it  if  you  like,  but 
do  not  wear  it  about  you  any  longer.  It  is  foolish  and  im 
proper — quite  unbecoming.  He  is  no  relative  of  yours,  and 
probably  you  will  never  meet  him  again.  .  Should  you  meet,  it 
will  be  in  a  social  position  so  entirely  different  to  that  which  you 
held  mutually  when  you  last  saw  each  other,  that  intimacy  would 
be  no  longer  proper.  Oblige  me  in  this  matter,  and  I  will  re 
place  the  paltry  trinket  with  something  far  more  valuable." 

Fearful  of  her  uncle's  anger,  and  feeling  she  was  altogether 
in  his  power,  Alice  consented  to  place  the  miniature  in  her 
drawer.  Her  uncle  kissed  her,  and  that  same  day  presented 
her  with  a  miniature  of  a  handsome  boy,  set  in  brilliants. — 


228  THE    WANDERER. 

"  There,"   ho  said,    "  I  have  kept  my  promise  ;  wear  that. — 
Some  day  you  may  meet  the  original." 

"  Who  is  it,  uncle,"  asked  she. 

"  Never  mind  now,"  he  replied  smiling.  "  I  have  much  to 
explain  to  you  by  and  by.  When  we  do  come  to  an  explana 
tion,  you  shall  know  who  that  miniature  represents." 

Nothing  further  was  said  upon  the  subject  at  that  time. 
The  costly  gift  occupied  the  place  of  Gerald's  miniature  round 
Alice's  neck  ;  but  her  uncle  might  not  have  been  so  well  sat 
isfied  as  he  appeared  to  be,  had  he  been  present  in  her  little 
bed-room  when  she  retired  for  the  night;  and  seen  with  what 
affection  the  discarded  miniature  was  taken  from  its  secret 
hiding-place,  and  kissed,  and  wept  over,  and  with  what  care 
lessness,  nay,  almost  contempt  the  costly  locket  he  had  pre 
sented  her  with  was  thrown  off,  without  a  look  being  deigned 
at  the  miniature,  and  yet  it  represented  a  beautiful  dark  com- 
plexioned,  curly  headed  boy,  much  handsomer  than  Gerald. 

However,  while  seated  in  the  coupe  of  the  diligence,  on  their 
way  to  Orleans,  Mr.  Craddock  carelessly  renewed  the  sub 
ject. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  this  boy  of  Mrs.  Dalton's  *?"  he 
asked. 

"  Gerald,  uncle." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  interchanged  souvenirs  with  Master 
Gerald  when  he  gave  you  that  trinket  I  saw  you  with  the  other 
day?" 

"I gave  him  a  sixpence  with  a  hole  in  it,  it  was  all  I  had  to 
give,"  said  Alice. 

"  And  both  of  you  promised  to  keep  these  souvenirs  as 
long  as  you  lived,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Alice,  innocently. 

"  I  thought  so,"  replied  her  uncle,  smiling,  "  I  warrant  that 
Gerald's  sixpence  was  spent  for  cakes  or  candy  before  he  had 
been  a  week  in  London,  though.  Well,  boys  and  girls  will  do 
such  things, :  but  you  must  forget  all  about  him  now,  as  he 
has  doubtless  long  forgotten  you." 


THE   ABDUCTION.  229 

Alice  did  not  reply.  She  did  not  believe  that  Gerald  had 
forgotten  her,  but  she  did  not  wish  to  offend  her  uncle,  and 
with  an  adroitness  beyond  her  years,  she  changed  the  subject 
of  conversation,  and  Gerald's  name  was  not  again  mention 
ed. 

The  journey  to  Orleans  occupied  two  days,  and  on  arriving 
at  that  beautiful  city,  Mr.  Craddock  engaged  handsome  apart 
ments  at  a  hotel  for  himself  and  his  niece ;  and  in  the  course- 
of  the  following  week,  placed  her  at  school,  in  a  convent,  near 
the  city,  at  which  the  daughters  of  some  of  the  most  wealthy 
families  in  the  province  were  receiving  their  education.  He 
desired  that  she  should  be  taught  music,  dancing,  French, 
Italian,  embroidery  and  all  the  lighter  and  more  fashionable 
accomplishments,  paying  a  very  high  price  for  her  tuition,  in 
advance.  He  should  be  absent,  he  said  for  a  year,  at  least, 
probably  more ;  but  if  he  did  remain  longer  away,  the  sum 
necessary  for  another  year's  tuition  should  be  promptly  for 
warded.  No  expense  was  to  be  spared,  and  his  niece 
was  to  have  the  utmost  care  and  attention  paid  to  her.  None 
of  the  young  ladies  were  allowed  to  go  beyond  the  convent 
grounds,  unless  sent  for  by  their  parents,  nor  was  any  com 
munication  permitted  with  any  person  outside  the  convent. 
Mr.  Craddock  was  very  peremptory  in  his  orders  that  his 
niece  should  not  be  allowed  to  send  any  letters  to  any  one. 
"  She  is  an  orphan,"  he  said  to  the  Superior,  "  and  has  no  friends 
with  whom  I  wish  her  to  communicate.  You  will  see  that  my 
wishes  in  this  respect,  are  strictly  adhered  to  T' 

The  promise  was  readily  given  :  indeed,  the  Superior  said 
that  no  letters  were  allowed  to  be  written  by  the  young  ladies 
except  to  their  parents,  and  then  the  contents  of  these  letters 
were  subjected  to- an  examination  by  herself. 

"That  is  all  I  require,"  he  replied.  "  Do  your  duty  to 
wards  the  child  and  you  shall  have  no  cause  to  repent  having 
done  so." 

Before  parting  with  his  niece  Mr.  Craddock  presented  her 


230  THE   WANDERER. 

with  a  most  liberal  allowance  of  pocket  money,  bidding  her 
not  to  spare  it,  when,  as  was  the  case  at  certain  seasons,  female 
peddlers  were  admitted  within  the  convent  grounds,  for  the 
gratification  of  the  young  ladies.  Alice  was  very  anxious  to 
know  where  her  uncle  was  going  ;  but  all  the  information  she 
could  obtain  from  him  was  very  vague.  "  It  is  more  than  I 
can  say  myself,  my  love,"  he  said.  "  To  the  West  Indies  first, 
and  then  perhaps  to  the  United  States.  If  I  return  direct 
from  there  you  will  see  me  here  in  twelve  months  from  now. 
But  it  is  not  improbable  that  I  may  go  to  India  again,  in  which 
case,  I  shall  be  absent  for  a  much  longer  period  :  but  you  will 
be  well  provided  for,  be  this  as  it  may." 

Alice  was  sorry  to  part  with  her  uncle,  for  she  was  friendless 
in  the  world,  and  he  had  used  every  endeavor  to  gain  her  af 
fections,  and  in  no  instance  had  thwarted  her  wishes  since  the 
day  he  had  carried  her  from  home,  except  in  refusing  to  allow 
her  to  correspond  with  Mrs.  Dalton,  and  on  the  occasion  when 
he  discovered  in  her  possession  the  portrait  of  Gerald  Dalton. 

He  was  twelve  months  absent,  and  during  that  period  she 
was  a  splendid  prisoner  within  the  walls  of  the  convent :  still  she 
was  not  unhappy.  She  enjoyed  the  society  of  young  ladies  of 
her  own  age,  had  every  opportunity  afforded  her  to  progress 
in  a  variety  of  pleasing  studies,  and  the  grounds  of  the  con 
vent  were  spacious,  well  planted  and  supplied  with  everything 
requisite  to  the  health  and  amusement  of  the  pupils.  Only 
two  things  troubled  her.  She  still  sighed  for  an  opportunity 
of  writing  to  Mrs.  Dalton,  and  still  cherished  the  recollection  of 
Gerald,  and  longed  to  know  whether  he  cherished  as  fond  and 
faithful  a  recollection  of  her. 


NEWS   PROM   AMERICA.  231 


CHAPTER  XX. 

In  which  the   scene  is   changed,  and  some  strange   things  occur  after  a 
strange  fashion. 

AGAIN  I  change  the  locality  of  my  story.  Five  years  had 
elapsed  since  the  conversation,  recorded  in  one  of  the  early 
chapters  of  this  narrative,  had  taken  place  between  Mrs.  Dai- 
ton  and  Mr.  Brower  in  the  stage-coach,  on  their  journey  from 
Liverpool  to  Derby,  on  the  occasion  of  that  lady's  return  to 
England  from  the  United  States,  when  that  gentlemen  went 
back  to  America  with  the  intention  of  permanently  residing 
there. 

He  had  written  according  to  promise,  to  his  brother  at  Cin 
cinnati,  a  few  weeks  after  he  had  given  the  promise  ;  but,  little 
notice  had  been  taken  of  his  inquiries  respecting  the  piece  of 
waste  land  that  still  remained  the  property  of  Mrs.  Dalton. — 
His  brother  had  merely  said,  "  The  land  you  speak  of,  George, 
is  really  of  no  value  whatever,  I  would  not  have  it  as  a  gift. 
You  are  sanguine  in  your  anticipations  of  its  future  value.  It 
may  become  so,  as  we  advance  in  our  internal  improvements  ; 
but  I  see  no  reason  at  present,  to  believe  that  it  will  be  worth 
the  trifling  taxes  levied  upon  it,  in  our  time  or  that  of  the 
widow,"  and  Mr.  Brower  had  read  the  letter,  and  thought  'no 
more  about  it.  But  when  he  returned  to  the  United  States 
and  went  to  Cincinnati,  his  native  city,  he  saw  ample  reasons 
to  believe  that  his  anticipations  would  be  realized  sooner  even 
than  he  expected.  Cincinnati  was  growing  rapidly  in  size  and 


232  THE   WANDERER. 

wealth.  It  had  already  acquired  the  proud  appellation  of  the 
"  Queen  city  of  the  west."  Canals  were  being  constructed, 
and  already  railroads  that  would  intersect  the  State  in  all  di 
rections  were  seen  in  the  dim  perspective.  Before  he  had 
resided  at  home  two  years,  he  saw  enough  to  convince  him 
that  it  would  be  a  profitable  investment  were  he  to  make  the 
widow  a  handsome  offer  for  the  land,  even  if  it  should  be  idle 
for  years.  He  accordingly  wr.ote  to  Mr.  Ashley's  address  in 
Herrington,  which  he  still  retained  in  his  possession,  inclosing 
a  letter  for  Mrs.  Dalton,  in  which  he  honestly  told  her  what 
he  thought  of  the  property,  and  asked  if  she  were  inclined  to 
sell  it.  "  I  know  not,"  he  wrote,  "whether  you  or  your  son 
have  any  idea  of  returning  to  America.  If  you  have  I  would 
not  advise  you  to  dispose  of  this  property.  But  if  not,  I  will 
willingly  purchase  it  from  you  at  a  price  fully  equal  to  that 
which  your  late  husband  paid  for  his  whole  farm.  For  two  or 
three  years  yet,  it  will  be  no  value  to  me  ;  perhaps  for  longer. 
It  may  be  ten  years  before  it  is  valuable  ;  but  the  day  will  come 
when  it  will  be  rented  for  wharfage  and  storage  purposes,  and 
it  will  return  a  handsome  income  to  its  possessor.  I  am  wil 
ling  at  once,  to  take  it  off  your  hands.  At  the  same  time  I 
will  inform  you  that  it  is  believed  that  the  owner  is  dead,  as  no 
claim  has  been  made  upon  it  for  years  ;  the  barn  that  stood 
upon  it  has  been  sold  to  pay  the  arrears  of  taxes,  and  several 
squatters  having  settled  upon  it — laborers  on  the  canal — the 
State  will  probably  shortly  lay  claim  to  it ;  of  course,  by  prov 
ing  your  title  deed,  you  can  at  any  time  reclaim  it ;  but  to 
save  expense  and  trouble,  if  you  decide  not  to  sell,  I  would 
recommend  you  to  empower  me  to  hold  it  in  your  name. 
Please  advise  with  me  at  your  earliest  convenience — remember 
me  to  my  little  namesake — a  tolerably  big  namesake  I  pre 
sume  he  has  grown  to  be  now,  and  believe  me 

Yours  truly, 

GEORGE  BROWER." 


NEWS   FROM   AMERICA.  233 

This  letter  reached  England  some  time  after  Mr.  Ashley  had 
sailed  for  Ceylon  ;  and  after  having  been  returned  to  the  dead 
letter  office,  in  London,  and  lying  there  for  a  long  time,  it  was 
on  the  point  of  being  returned  to  the  writer,  when  by  some 
means  Mr.  Ashley's  address  became  known,  and  it  was  mailed 
to  the  East  Indies,  but  it  was  again  delayed,  having,  through 
some  blunder, *been  sent  to  Singapore  instead  of  Ceylon.  It 
was  returned  to  England,  and  again  re-mailed  to  Colombo,  and 
finally  received  by  Mr.  Ashley,  nearly  three  years  after  it  was 
written,  and  encumbered  with  postage  charges  to  a  very  large 
amount.  Even  then  he  knew  nothing  of  the  contents  of  Mrs. 
Dalton's  letter,  the  envelope  in  which  it  was  enclosed  merely 
instructing  him  to  forward  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Dalton's  address, 
and  stating  that  it  came  from  Gerald  Brower.  Mr.  Ashley 
puzzled  his  brains  for  some  time  in  the  endeavor  to  recollect 
who  Gerald  Brower  was ;  and  at  length  recalled  to  mind  his 
fellow-passenger  in  the  stage-coach,  some  years  previous.  All 
that  remained  to  him  was  to  re-mail  the  letter  again  to  Mrs. 
Dalton,  who  did  not  receive  it  until  Gerald  had  sailed  for 
India. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Brower  having  received  no  reply  to  his  let 
ter,  either  from  Mr.  Ashley  or  the  widow,  or  her  son,  sup 
posed  them  to  be  dead,  or  removed,  as  was  the  case,  to  some 
other  locality,  and  he  had  acted  in  the  matter  upon  his  own 
responsibility.  Having  informed  the  proper  authorities  of  all 
that  he  knew  in  relation  to  the  owners  of  the  property,  and 
stated  that  he  believed  them  to  be  dead — he  had  rented  it  of 
the  State,  which  held  it  in  trust  for  the  rightful  owner.  The 
canal  which  passed  near  it  was  already  nearly  completed,  and 
storehouses  and  wharves  were  already  in  the  course  of  erection 
upon  it.  It  already  paid  a  handsome  rental,  and  bade  fair  in 
the  course  of  a  few  years  more  to  become  very  valuable  prop 
erty. 

Mrs.  Dalton,  upon  the  receipt  of  the  letter,  wrote  to  Mr. 
Brower,  thanking  him  for  the  trouble  he  had  taken,  but  de- 


234  THE   WANDERER. 

dining  to  give  any  decisive  answer  until  she  had  advised  with 
her  son,  who,  she  wrote,  was  in  the  East  Indies,  but  whom  she 
expected  home  in  the  course  of  six  or  eight  months. 

Greatly  to  her  surprise  and  gratification,  she  received  a 
second  letter  from  Mr.  Brower,  in  the  course  of  three  months, 
enclosing  a  bill  of  exchange  for  the  value  of  the  rents  already 
received  by  the  State,  and  asking  her  for  a  pow'er  of  attorney, 
by  which  he  might  act  in  her  behalf  for  the  future.  His  anti 
cipations,  he  wrote,  promised  to  be  more  than  realized,  and  he 
no  longer  advised  her,  since  her  son  was  living,  to  dispose  of 
the  property.  His  request  was  thankfully  complied  with  by 
the  widow,  who  looked  forward  now  with  more  anxiety  than 
ever  to  her  son's  return  from  abroad.  It  was  but  a  short  time 
after  this  that  she  received  a  letter  from  him,  informing  her  of 
the  unfortunate  result  of  his  visit  to  Calcutta,  and  of  his  inten 
tions  to  remain  for  some  time  in  the  East  Indies. 

She  wrote  to  him,  immediately  urging  his  return,  telling 
him  at  the  same  time  that  she  had  heard  from  Mr.  Brower, 
and  had  some  good  news  to  communicate  to  him  when  she  saw 
him.  She  was  silent  with  regard  to  its  character,  for  she  knew 
Gerald's  impetuous  disposition,  and  was  fearful  if  she  told  him 
all,  that  he  would  take  it  into  his  head  to  go  to  America  before 
he  returned  home  to  her.  Her  over  caution  defeated  itself, 
as  will  be  seen  hereafter. 

Shortly  after  this  she  also  received  a  letter  in  the  well  re 
membered  handwriting  of  Alice  Thornton.  It  bore  no  date, 
but  was  stamped  with  the  Paris  post-mark,  and  ran  as  follows: 

"  At  length,  dear  Mrs.  Dalton,  I  have  received  permission 
to  write  to  you,  and  inform  you  that  I  am  still  in  the  land  of 
the  living.  You  will  have  thought  me  ungrateful  to  one,  who 
has  been  to  me  as  a  second  mother.  You  will  still  think  me 
ungrateful,  but  believe  me,  when  I  say,  that  it  has  been  no  fault 
of  mine  that  I  have  not  written  before.  It  is  no  fault  of  mine 
that  I  write  as  I  am  writing  now.  I  have  been  for  more  than 
twelve  months  at  school  in  the  interior  of  this  country,  during 


A   MYSTERIOUS    LETTER.  235 

which  period  I  have  had  no  communication  with  any  one  out 
side  the  institution  in  which  I  have  received  my  education. 
It  is  only  at  my  urgent  request  before  leaving  France  for 
another  country,  which  I  am  not  permitted  to  name,  that  1 
have  obtained  permission  to  write  at  all ;  and  now  I  am  writing 
under  the  eye  of  a  relative,  who  will  read  my  letter  before  I 
seal  it — indeed,  it  is  partly  from  his  dictation  that  I  am  writing. 
Some  day  he  tells  me  you  shall  know  all,  but  not  now.  It  is 
only  within  the  last  month,  since  I  have  left  school,  that  the 
causes  which  led  to  my  removal  from  your  charge  have  been 
explained  to  me ;  still  do  not  think  that  I  am  unhappy,  or  that 
beyond  my  inability  to  write  to  you  before,  I  have  any  cause 
to  complain.  I  am  indeed  rich  in  this  world's  goods,  or  at 
least  I  shall  be,  in  the  course  of  time,  if  I  live.  Meanwhile,  I 
am  abundantly  supplied  with  money,  in  proof  of  which  I  in 
close  you  the  accompanying  trifle,  which  I  am  promised  shall 
be  transmitted  to  you,  annually.  I  shall  probably  write  to  you 
again,  but  I  am  not  permitted  to  give  you  any  clue  to  my  place 
of  residence.  It  is  useless  to  reply  to  this  letter,  as  I  shall 
have  left  Paris  before  you  receive  this. 

"  I  send  this  letter  enclosed  to  Mr.  Pearce's  address.  You 
many  have  removed  from  your  former  place  of  residence.  He, 
most  likely,  is  still  residing  at  the  vicarage ;  indeed  J  am  in 
formed  that  such  is  the  case. 

"  Believe  me,  dear  Mrs.  Dalton,  still  as  ever, 

Your  affectionate  child, 

ALICE  THORNTON." 

The  trifle  enclosed  in  the  letter  was  a  fifty  pound  Bank  of 
England  note. 

Mrs.  Dalton  read  the  letter  again  and  again,  with  the  utmost 
interest:  but  although  she  was  delighted  to  know  that  Alice 
still  lived,  it  was  with  feelings  of  the  deepest  regret  that  she 
heard  from  her  own  hand  that  she  wrould  probably  never  see 
her  again.  So  far  from  explaining  the  mystery  connected  with 


236  THE   WANDERER. 

her  disappearance,  the  letter  only  rendered  it  deeper,  and  left 
not  a  hope  of  future  explanation. 

Another  thing  also  distressed  the  widow.  Alice  had  made  no 
inquiries  after  Gerald.  She  had  not  even  mentioned  his  name  ! 

Mrs.  Dalton  was  not  of  course  aware  that  she  had  been  for 
bidden  to  do  so,  and  knowing  how  deeply  Gerald  had  mourned 
her  loss  and  how  fondly  he  still  loved  her,  she  thought  this 
apparently  purposed  omission  heartless  and  cruel.  She  re 
solved  to  say  nothing  to  Gerald  about  it  until  his  return,  fur 
ther  than  to  inform  him  in  her  next  letter  of  the  fact  that 
Alice  was  still  alive  and  had  written  to  her. 


THE   TRADIKG   VOYAGE.  231 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Misrepresentations  and  their  results.    The  evil  effects  of  false  pride  again 
exemplified. 

GERALD  was  absent  for  nine  months  on  the  voyage  amongst 
the  Islands  of  the  Indian  Archipelago.  During  this  period 
he  visited  Borneo,  the  Phillipine  Islands,  Singapore,  Pulo 
Penanff,  and  a  score  of  islands  of  lesser  note.  Had  his  mind 

D> 

been  easy  in  relation  to  matters  at  home,  the  voyage,  notwith 
standing  the  menial  situation  he  held,  would  have  been  an  in 
teresting  one  to  him.  In  many  respects  it  was  so  after  all. 
He  had  shown  himself  active  and  willing,  and  it  soon  becoming 
apparent  that  he  had  received  a  better  education  than  usually 
falls  to  the  lot  of  common  seamen,  his  captain  who  was  not 
overstocked  with  education  himself,  released  him  from  much 
of  the  menial  drudgery  which  he  would  otherwise  have  been 
compelled  to  perform,  and  appointed  him  to  duties  of  impor 
tance  and  trust,  especially  when  the  brig  was  at  anchor  or  ly 
ing  off  the  islands.  He  had  called  at  Borneo  for  the  purpose  of 
purchasing  wild  horses  for  sale  in  the  Phillipines,  and  Gerald 
was  generally  deputed  to  exercise  the  office  of  ship's  clerk 
and  to  keep  an  account  of  the  expenditures  and  of  the  amount 
of  the  sales  that  were  made,  and  in  this  duty  he  acquitted 
himself  so  well  that  at  the  expiration  of  the  voyage,  on  the 
return  of  the  brig  to  Calcutta,  the  owners,  on  the  captain's  re 
commendation,  presented  him  with  a  considerable  addition  to 
his  wages,  and  offered  him  the  situation  of  supercargo  during 
the  next  voyage  to  Ceylon.  It  was  Gerald's  intention  to  re 
main  for  some  time  with  his  uncle  at  Colombo,  provided  that 


238  THE    WANDERER. 

he  found  himself  well  received,  and  he  represented  this  to  the 
owners  and  received  their  permission  to  leave  the  brig  at  Trin- 
comallee,  and  to  proceed  thence  to  Colombo.  His  wages, 
with  the  compliment  he  had  received  and  the  commission  he 
hoped  to  make  on  arriving  at  Ceylon,  would  place  him  in  pos 
session  of  a  considerable  sum  of  money  and  he  was  gratified  to 
think  that,  at  any  rate,  he  would  not  visit  his  relatives  as  a 
beggar,  intruding  upon  their  hospitality. 

His  great  anxiety,  however,  on  returning  to  Calcutta,  had 
relation  to  the  letters  he  expected  to  find  awaiting  him  there, 
and  he  lost  no  time  in  calling  upon  Mr.  Thompson  and  asking 
if  any  letters  had  been  received. 

There  were  three  ;  one  from  Mr.  Hoffmann,  one  from  his 
mother,  and  one  from  the  Vicar  of  Herrington. 

It  was  with  a  beating  heart  that  he  opened  the  second  letter ; 
but  its  contents  threw  him  into  an  agony  of  grief  and  rage. 

Mrs.  Dal  ton  had  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Hoffmann,  be 
fore  she  had  written  to  her  son,  and  it  was  evident  to  Gerald 
that  the  unfortunate  results  which  had  attended  the  sale  of  the 
merchandise  entrusted  to  his  charge,  had  been  grossly  misrepre 
sented  to  his  mother. 

The  letter  was  couched  in  affectionate  language,  and  he 
was  earnestly  entreated  to  return  home,  when  all,  she  said, 
would  be  forgotten  and  forgiven.  She  was  sorry  that  he  had 
been  led  astray,  but  she  hoped  he  had  not  intentionally  done 
wrong.  She  believed  that  he  had  been  duped  by  designing 
persons,  and  so  had  yielded  to  a  temptation  that  he  could  have 
strength  to  resist  in  future  ;  and  she  thought  if  he  were  to 
write  a  penitent  letter  to  Mr.  Hoffmann,  he  would  look  over 
what  was  passed  and  could  not  be  recalled,  although  she  heard 
that  his  friends  had  suffered  a  heavy  pecuniary  loss.  The  letter 
concluded  with  earnestly  entreating  him  for  his  mother's  sake, 
to  recollect  the  lessons  he  had  received  from  her  in  his  child 
hood,  and  the  prayers  he  had  been  taught  to  repeat  at  his 
mother's  knee  ;  and  she  begged  him  earnestly  to  pray  that 


LETTERS   FROM   HOME.  239 

henceforward  he  might  be  enabled  to  resist  temptation  or  to 
fly  from  its  first  approach — but  erring  or  penitent,  he  was  as 
sured  that  he  still  possessed,  and  would  ever  continue  to  pos 
sess  his  mother's  fondest  affection. 

Gerald  fairly  gnashed  his  teeth  with  rage  and  distress  when 
he  had  finished  the  perusal  of  this  letter.  "  All  will  be  forgot 
ten  and  forgiven !"  he  said.  "  This  from  my  mother.  A 
curse  fall  on  those  who  have  endeavored  to  turn  her  against 
me.  The  fools !  they  were  alone  to  blame  in  sending  out  such 
a  lot  of  trash,  and  in  greedily  affixing  such  absurd  prices  to 
their  useless  merchandise.  I  did  my  best,  God  knows,  and  if 
I  failed,  it  was  through  no  fault  that  I  could  avoid,  except  that 
of  placing  too  much  confidence  in  their  judgment,  and  in  De 
Sylva's  probity. 

"  But  this  letter  has  fixed  me  in  my  resolve.  I  will  not  re 
turn  home,  until  I  have  brought  them,  aye,  and  my  mother 
too,  to  confess  that  I  have  been  grievously  wronged." 

He  had  scarely  patience  to  read  Mr.  Hoffmann's  letter.  It 
was  fall  of  recriminations,  and  not  only  charged  him  indirectly 
with  having  sold  the  goods  at  higher  prices  than  he  had  ren 
dered  an  account  of,  and  of  making  use  of  the  money  for  his  own 
purposes ;  also,  with  writing  with  a  degree  of  levity  and 
flippancy,  after  having  so  recklessly  robbed  those  whose  chief 
motive  had  been  to  befriend  him  and  advance  his  interest.  It 
was  signed  by  every  one  of  the  persons  whose  goods  had  been 
entrusted  to  his  care. 

Mr.  Pierce's  letter,  like  that  written  by  his  mother,  was 
couched  in  a  strain  of  mingled  warning,  commiseration  and  re 
gret,  having  evidently  been  penned  rather  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger — that  wounded  the  feelings  of  the  young  man  far  more 
than  the  angry  and  reproachful  letter  of  Mr.  Hoffmann  had 
done.  He  shed  tears  over  these  letters,  and  would  perhaps 
have  returned  home,  as  they  urged  him  to  do,  had  not  the 
bitter  invective  of  Mr.  Hoffmann  excited  his  anger  to  such  a 
degree  that  when  his  thoughts  again  recurred  to  it,  he  strove 


240  THE   WANDERER. 

to  banish  from  his  mind  every  feeling  of  regret,  and  almost 
felt  inclined,  since  his  actions  had  been  so  misinterpreted,  to 
give  his  late  employer  some  good  cause  for  condemnation  : 
better  thoughts,  however,  happily  prevailed  over  his  first  feel 
ings  of  pride  and  passion,  although  he  was  more  than  ever  de 
termined  to  become  an  alien  to  his  home  until  those  who  had 
judged  him  wrongfully,  freely  acknowledged  their  injustice. 

The  only  reply  he  deigned  to  Mr.  Hoffmann  was  to  obtain 
from  the  Portuguese  merchant  an  account  of  the  sale,  in  Hin- 
doostane,  and  to  transmit  it  without  further  explanation  than 
the  insulting  statement  that  he  had  sent  him  a  bill  of  the  prices 
obtained  for  the  goods,  and  he  and  his  friends  might  make  the 
best  they  could  of  it. 

To  the  vicar  and  his  mother  he  wrote  briefly,  and  with  some 
bitterness  of  feeling,  though  he  said  that  he  believed  they  had 
been  misled  by  the  false  representations  of  Mr.  Hoffmann,  and 
he  informed  the  latter  that  she  probably  would  not  see  him 
again  until  she  was  satisfied  that  he  had  been  harshly  treated 
and  unjustly  suspected. 

It  would  have  been  well,  if  amidst  the  bitter  and  vindictive 
feelings  of  pride  and  obstinancy  which  agitated  his  bosom,  he 
had  recollected  the  advice  of  honest  Jemmy  Milton,  given  him 
on  the  beach,  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit  to  Herrington, 
after  he  had  quitted  that  town  to  go  to  the  situation  procured 
for  him  in  London :  "  Don't  go  agin  your  mother,  Gerry,  if 
you  wants  to  have  luck  in  this  world,  and  to  mount  up'ards 
when  your  time  comes." 

Having  again  requested  Mr.  Thompson  to  retain  any  letters 
that  he  might  receive  for  him,  until  he  sent  directions  where 
they  were  to  be  forwarded,  he  sailed  as  supercargo  on  board 
the  Firefly,  for  Trincomallce. 


THE    EXPLANATION.  241 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

In  which  Mr.  Craddock  makes  a  long  and  strange  explanation,  which  Alico 
listens  to  patiently,  with  what  result  will  be  seen  hereafter. 

SOME  eighteen  months  after  Alice  Thornton  had  been  abducted 
from  Herrington,  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  and  a  young  lady, 
who  might  well  have  passed  for  eighteen  years  of  age,  but  who 
was  in  reality  nearly  twenty,  were  seated,  one  evening,  in  ,the 
verandah  of  one  of  the  graceful  country  seats  that  are  scattered 
along  the  coast  in  the  vicinity  of  Havana,  in  the  Island  of  Cuba. 
The  villa  was  situated  in  the  centre  of  a  delightful  sugar  plan 
tation,  which  covered  a  hundred  caballerias  of  land.  The 
grounds  immediately  surrounding  the  dwelling  were  planted 
with  shrubbery  and  with  ornamental  trees,  among  which,  the 
royal  palm,  the  oreodoxiaregia  of  Humboldt,  was  conspicuous; 
its  fresh,  glossy  green  leaves  contrasted  beautifully  with  its 
whitish-brown  trunk ;  orange  and  lemon  trees,  whose  rich  sweet- 
scented  blossoms  filled  the  atmosphere  with  their  grateful  per 
fume,  and  flowers  of  every  variety,  in  bud  and  blossom,  gave 
additional  beauty  and  sweetness  to  the  landscape.  The  cool 
evening  breeze  was  blowing  gently  from  seaward,  and  waft 
ing  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  into  the  verandah,  the  view  from 
which  was  so  gloriously  beautiful,  that  the  young  lady  uttered 
an  involuntary  exclamation  of  delight. 

The  gentleman,  who  had  for  some  minutes  been  observing 
her  in  silence,  appeared  pleased  with  this  evidence  of  admira 
tion  on  the  part  of  his  youthful  companion. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  beautiful,  Alice,"  he  said ;  "  and  all  this  broad 
land  will  one  day  be  yours." 


242  TJIE    WANDERER. 

"  Mine,  uncle  !"  exclaimed  the  young  lady. 

"Yes,  Alice,  yours,  on  the  day  that  you  complete  your 
twenty-first  year,  provided  you  do  not,  in  one  respect,  thwart 
my  wishes."  ' 

Alice  made  no  reply,  although  Mr.  Craddoek  waited  some 
moments  in  expectation  ;  but,  at  length,  he  continued  : — 

"  I  promised  you,  my  love,  when  I  took  you  from  the  con 
vent  school,  at  Orleans,  that  when  we  arrived  in  Cuba,  I  would 
explain  the  causes  which  led  me  to  seek  you  out  in  England, 
and  more  fully  to  take  such  an  interest  in  your  welfare.  Of 
course,  as  your  uncle,  your  mother's  only  brother,  there  was  a 
natural  cause  existing  to  some  extent ;  but  you  must  be  well 
aware  that  I  have  had  other  reasons,  or  I  should  not  have  adopt 
ed  so  singular  a  method  of  carrying  out  my  views.  We 
have  been  now  three  weeks  in  Cuba.  In  the  course  of  a 
few  days  I  expect  your  cousin,  George,  to  arrive  from  Jamaica. 
I  sent  for  him  the  day  after  we  landed,  and  I  will,  this  evening, 
relate  to  you,  if  you  please,  the  history  of  your  family,  of 
which,  in  consequence  of  the  early  death  of  your  parents,  yovi 
appear  to  have  remained  ignorant." 

Still  Alice  remained  silent.  She  appeared  to  dread  the  story, 
which  she  was  yet  so  anxious  to  hear. 

Mr.  Craddoek  seemed  to  consider  her  silence  a  token  of 
consent,  and  thus  continued  : 

"  You  are  not  aware  that  your  mother  was  born  on  this 
Island?" 

"  No  sir,1'  said  Alice,  greatly  surprised.  "  I  was  not  aware 
of  that." 

"  Of  course  not.  How  should  you  have  known,  if  your 
former  friends  in  England  never  knew  anything  of  your  mother's 
family  ?  It  was  foolish  of  me  to  ask  you  the  question.  Such, 
however,  was  the  case  ;  she  was  several  years  younger  than  1, 
and  was  born  here  shortly  after  I  came  here  with  my  father 
and  mother  from  Ireland. 

"  Your  father,  I   knew   when   a  boy  ;  he  having  also  came 


THE   EXPLANATION.  243 

here  with  his  parents  from  England  about  the  same  time.  His 
father  and  mine  were  engaged  by  the  Cuban  Government  as 
Surveyors  and  Civil  Engineers  ;  but  Mr.  Thornton  died  of 
yellow  fever,  and  his  wife  followed  him  to  the  grave,  dying  of 
the  same  terrible  disease,  within  a  year  from  the  death  of  her 
husband.  My  father  and  mother  took  him  into  the  family 
after  the  death  of  his  parents,  and  he  and  I  were  educated  to 
gether  here,  until,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  we  both  went  to  Eng 
land,  he  to  a  grammar  school,  and  I  to  the  Cadet's  College  at 
Croydon.  My  father,  who  had  some  influence  with  the  East 
India  Company's  Directors,  having  procured  me  the  promise 
of  a  military  appointment  in  the  East  India  Company's  service. 
At  the  age  of  sixteen,  I  left  England  for  the  East  Indies,  and 
did  not  again  return  to  England  until  the  period  I  met  with  you 
at  Herrington. 

"  Your  father  after  he  quitted  school,  when  eighteen  years  of 
age,  returned  to  Cuba,  and  resided  there  a  year.  He  had  suc 
ceeded  in  gaming  the  affections  of  your  mother,  my  sister  : 
but  her  parents  being  opposed  to  their  union,  they  were  mar 
ried  clandestinely.  Henry  Thornton,  your  father,  having 
secretly  followed  Alice,  your  mother,  to  Jamaica,  whither  she 
had  gone  on  a  visit  to  some  friends,  and  there  he  succeeded  in 
getting  the  marriage  ceremony  performed. 

"  Your  grandfather  was  greatly  irritated  when  he  heard  of 
this  act  of  disobedience  on  the  part  of  his  daughter.  He  re 
fused  to  receive  or  even  to  see  the  newly  married  pair,  and 
declared  his  intention  of  discarding  his  daughter.  All  your 
grandmother's  endeavors  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation, 
although  she  was  herself  opposed  to  the  match,  were  of  no 
avail,  and  your  father  and  mother  sailed  for  England ;  your 
father,  who  was  always  seriously  inclined,  intending  to  study 
at  one  of  the  colleges*  with  a  view  of  becoming  a  minister  of 
the  gospel.  He  had  £500  which  had  been  left  him  by  his 
mother,  and  this  sum  constituted  his  whole  fortune. 

"Shortly   after  their  arrival   in   England,  yonr  were  born, 


244  THE    WANDERER. 

and  within  a  few  months  your  mother  died.  She  had  been 
much  grieved  with  the  anger  of  her  father ;  this  grief,  no 
doubt  hastened  her  death. 

"  Your  father  died  when  you  were  about  three  years  of  age, 
and  Mr.  Ashley,  who  had  been  his  fellow  student  at  college, 
but  who  had  married  and  taken  holy  orders,  adopted  you  into 
his  family.  From  that  period  until  I  took  you  from  England 
you,  I  presume,  recollect  all  that  occurred. 

"  Your  mother  had  frequently  written  to  her  parents,  but 
her  letters  had  not  been  answered.  After  her  death  your 
father  wrote  them  the  sad  intelligence,  and  to  this  letter  he 
received  a  reply,  requesting  him  to  send  you  to  Cuba,  and  on 
his  compliance  with  this  request,  promising  to  provide  com 
fortably  for  him  ;  but  otherwise  declining  any  further  corres 
pondence. 

"  From  that  date  no  more  letters  passed  between  them. 

"  My  parents,  your  grandfather  and  grandmother,  wished  me 
to  wed  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  planter  ;  and  after  I 
had  been  some  years  in  India,  I  received  a  letter  requesting 
me  to  obtain  a  furlough,  and  return  home  and  marry  this 
young  lady. 

''  The  letter  reached  me  too  late.  I  had  already  married  the 
daughter  of  one  of  the  captains  of  the  regiment  to  which  I 
belonged.  I  had  known  Donna  Julia,  my  affiancee,  on  this  is 
land,  when  a  girl,  and  I  knew  that  it  had  been  the  wish  of  the 
parents  of  both  of  us  that  we  should  be  married  when  we  ar 
rived  at  the  proper  age  ;  but  I  had  never  cared  for  her,  though 
she  was  a  beautiful  and  amiable  girl,  nor,  I  believe  had  she  cared 
for  me — probably  because  we  had  been  always  told  that  we 
were  to  marry  each  other.  Still  had  I  not  fallen  in  with  the  lady 
whom  I  married,  I  should  not  have  opposed  the  wishes  of  my 
parents. 

"  My  father  was  very  much  exasperated  when  he  heard  that 
his  designs  for  his  children  had  again  been  thwarted.  lie  was 
a  man  of  very  irritable  temper,  and  he  wrote  me  a  letter  tell- 


THE    EXPLANATION.  245 

ing  me  that  he  had  altogether  cast  me  off  and  erased  my  name 
from  his  will. 

"  I  was  sorry  for  this,  not,  however,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of 
view,  for  I  was  young  then  and  careless  of  money ;  besides  I 
was  rising  in  my  profession,  and  my  father-in-law  was  a  man 
of  considerable  wealth  ;  but  I  deeply  regretted  having  offend 
ed  my  parents,  although  I  would  not  have  undone  what  was  done, 
even  if  I  had  possessed  the  power.  I  wrote  to  my  father  and 
mother  expressing  my  sorrow,  and  begging  to  be  restored  to 
favor  ;  but  I  received  no  reply  ;  before  the  letter  reached  them 
both  had  died.  The  executor  of  the  estate,  however,  wrote  to 
inform  me  that  my  name  had  been  erased  from  the  will,  and 
the  name  of  Alice  Thornton,  the  daughter  of  Henry  Thornton 
and  Alice  Craddock  substituted  in  its  place  as  sole  heir.  He 
endeavored  to  console  me,  however,  by  informing  me  that  the 
title  to  the  property  was  contested  by  the  heirs  of  a  former 
possessor,  and  that  a  long  course  of  litigation  would  ensue,  and 
that  in  all  probability  the  result  wo,uld  be  the  loss  of  the 
estate  to  my  family. 

"  Several  years  elapsed,  during  which  period  your  Cousin 
George  was  born.  I  continued  to  take  an  interest  in  whatever 
occurred  in  Cuba,  and  occasionally  received  the  Havana  news 
papers,  in  which,  from  time  to  time,  at  long  intervals,  I  read 
the  tedious  proceedings  of  the  legal  contest  between  my  father's 
executor  and  the  rival  claimants. 

"  At  last,  a  short  time  before  I  quitted  India,  to  my  surprise 
I  received  a  newspaper  from  which  I  learnt  that  the  claim  had 
been  decided  in  favor  of  the  heirs  of  Mr.  Craddock.  The  will 
was  published,  and  an  advertisement  inserted  calling  for  infor 
mation  of  Alice  Thornton,  grand-daughter  of  William  and  Alice 
Craddock,  formerly  of  Dublin,  Ireland,  and  subsequently  of 
Regla,  in  the  Island  of  Cuba,  and  of  William  Craddock,  of  the 
Hon.  Company's  service,  son  of  the  aforesaid  William  and 
Alice  Craddock,  supposed  to  be  in  the  East  Indies. 

"  The  Will  I  read  carefully.  It  was  to  the  following  effect. 
To  wit : 


246  THE    WANDERER. 

"  The  property,  consisting  of  this  estate  and  another  of  equal 
value  on  the  south  side  of  the  island,  was  left  to  Alice  Thorn 
ton  and  her  heirs  forever  ;  provided,  In  the  case  of  William 
Craddock  having  male  issue  living,  the  said  Alice  Thornton 
wedded  one  of  the  said  male  issue.  In  case  of  her  refusal  or 
decease,  the  property  was  to  fall  to  the  said  William  Craddock 
personally." 

"  I  knew  that  you,  my  love,  had  been  adopted  by  Mr.  Ash 
ley,  and  some  short  time  before  this  I  had  read  in  the  Bengal 
newspapers  of  Mr.  Ashley's  appointment  to  an  Educational 
post  in  Ceylon. 

•  "My  term  of  service  in  India  had  expired,  and  my  wife  hav 
ing  died  some  years  before,  I  had  sent  my  son  George  to  Ja 
maica  to  receive  his  education,  as  I  have  friends  there,  and  hav 
ing  no  ties  to  bind  me  to  India,  I  had  resolved  to  return  to 
England  and  send  for  my  son  to  rejoin  me  from  Jamaica. 
This  welcome  and  unexpected  intelligence  however  altered  my 
plans,  and  1  went  to  Ceylon  to  seek  for  you.  I  found  Mr.  Ash 
ley  and  heard  from  him  that  you  were  residing  at  Herrington, 
in  England,  with  one  Mrs.  Dalton.  Mr.  Ashley  was  very 
eager  in  his  inquiries  as  to  the  cause  of  my  anxiety  regarding 
you,  but  I  had  no  desire  to  give  him  all  the  information  he 
sought,  and  in  some  respects  I  plead  guilty  to  having  misled 
him.  I  however,  returned  to  England  and  you  know  the  rest. 

"  My  object  in  acting  as  I  have  done  I  need  scarely  explain 
further.  I  heard  from  Mr.  Ashley  that  Mrs.  Dalton  had  a 
son  about  your  own  age,  and  I  feared  the  consequences  of  your 
being  together,  knowing  how  much  depended  upon  your 
marriage  with  your  cousin  George,  and  I  feared  there  might  be 
delay  and  difficulty  if  I  sought  Mrs.  Dalton  and  demanded  that 
you  should  be  given  up  to  rny  guardianship. 

"  Again,  I  wished  you  to  be  entirely  separated  from  your 
former  friends,  and  I  think,  now  I  have  explained  my  motives, 
you  will  confess  that  I  was  right. 


THE    EXPLANATION.  247 

"  I  was  glad  to  find  that  you  never  mentioned  the  name  of 
Mrs.  Dalton's  son. 

"  Only  once  I  was  annoyed  at  seeing  in  your  possession  a 
miniature  which  he  had  given  you.  You  know  that  I  replaced 
it  with  another — the  portrait  of  your  Cousin  George.  I  hope 
that  the  silly  bauble  I  complained  of  has  long  ago  been  des 
troyed  and  forgotten.  In  a  few  days  you  will  see  the  original 
of  the  miniature  you  have  since  worn. 

"  1  forgot  to  say  that  while  you  were  at  school  in  France,  I 
visited  Cuba  and  obtained  possession  of  the  will  and  saw  that 
everything  was  settled.  It  is  your  fault  if  on  your  twenty-first 
birth-day,  you  do  not  inherit  the  beautiful  estate  upon  which 
we  now  reside  ;  but  it  is  growing  late,  my  love,  and  the  night 
air  is  somewhat  chilly,  and  you  are  not  yet  accustomed  to  the 
climate.  You  had  better  retire  to  rest.  Good  night  and  pleas 
ant  dreams  attend  your  slumbers." 

Mr.  Craddock  rose  from  his  seat,  and  lighting  a  cigar,  com 
menced  pacing  leisurely  up  and  down  the  verandah,  and 
Alice,  wishing  her  uncle  good  night,  acceded  to  his  request 
and  retired  to  her  apartment. 


248  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

In  which  the  reader  obtains  some  inkling  of  the  motive*  which  actuated 
Mr.  Craddock,  and  in  which  Alice  and  her  cousin  came  t&  A  mutual  under 
standing.  Showing  also  what  was  the  result. 

"  MY  uncle  speaks  kindly  and  disinterestedly/'  soliloquized 
Alice,  as  she  laid  aside  the  miniature  she  had  withdrawn  from 
its  hiding-place,  and  carefully  locked  the  drawer ;  "  still  I  can 
not  understand  his  motives.  Surely  it  is  a  singular  disinterest 
edness  which  would  lead  him  to  urge  me  to  consent  to  marry 
my  cousin,  whom  I  have  not  yet  seenkwhen,  by  my  refusal,  he 
would  secure  the  whole  estate  to  himself.  What  need  of  this 
secrecy  if  the  Will  be  worded  as  he  says  it  is  ?  I  shall  displease 
him,  and  I  know,  though  he  is  usually  so  kind  to  me,  he  is  ter 
rible  in  his  anger  ;  but  I  will  ask  to  see  this  Will.  He  cannot 
refuse  me  that  permission — It  is  my  right ;  and  then  I  shall 
know  better  how  to  act.  As  to  my  cousin  George,  he  is  hand 
some,  if  the  miniature  my  uncle  gave  me,  resembles  him  ;  and 
he  is  said  to  be  amiable  and  intelligent,  but  I  know  I  shall  hate 
him,  notwithstanding.  My  uncle  can  have  no  legal  authority 
over  me,  and  he  shall  not  force  me  to  marry  against  my  incli 
nation." 

She  sat  for  hours  deeply  absorbed  in  thought;  then  un 
dressed,  and  got  into  bed,  and  fatigued  as  she  had  been  with 
the  unwonted  exertions  of  the  previous  day,  during  which,  in 
company  with  her  uncle,  she  had  ridden  over  the  plantation,  and 
extended  the  jaunt  far  into  the  interior  of  the  island,  she  soon 
fell  asleep,  but  her  slumbers  were  disturbed  and  restless — her 


THE    COUSIN'S   ARRIVAL.  249 

dreams  took  the  color  of  her  wakeful  thought.  She  was  again 
in  England,  walking  on  the  sea-beach,  near  Herrington,  with 
Gerald — again  standing  in  the  court-yard  of  the  inn,  bidding 
him  farewell,  as  the  stage  drove  away  from  the  yard — again  she 
passed  through  the  agonies  of  mind  consequent  upon  her  abduc 
tion  from  her  friends — she  was  again  on  board  the  Calais  packet 
— in  Paris — in  the  convent  school  at  Orleans  ;  yet  amidst  all 
these  changing  visions,  her  cousin  George  and  her  uncle  were 
present,  urging  her  to  consent  to  a  union,  against  which  her 
heart  revolted. 

Then  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  her  dream.  She  saw 
before  her  an  old  trunk,  which  a  strong  curiosity  prompted  her 
to  open  and  to  examine  the  contents,  but  it  was  locked,  and 
the  key  was  not  to  be  found.  She  tried  all  the  keys  she  had 
in  her  possession,  and  the  last  one  on  the  bunch  fitted  the  lock. 
She  opened  the  trunk,  and  there  lay  the  Will.  She  was  about 
to  reach  forth  her  hand  to  take  it,  when  suddenly  her  uncle 
appeared,  and  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  ordered  her  to  replace  it, 
and  close  the  trunk.  She  started  and  looked  up  in  his  face  ; 
there  was  the  same  fearful  scowl  on  his  visage,  that  only  once 
or  twice  she  had  seen,  yet  which  had  struck  terror  to  her  heart. 
He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  as  if  about  to  drag  her 
away  forcibly.  She  screamed,  and  awoke  to  find  her  French 
maid  standing  by  the  bed-side.  It  was  her  touch  which  had 
awakened  her. 

"  Levez  vous  ma'mselle,"  said  the  young  woman,  who  was 
accustomed  to  make  very  free  with  her  mistress.  "  II  est  tres 
tard,  le  dejeuner  est  servi." 

"  Quelle  heure  est  il,  done?  Minette,"  said  Alice,  springing 
out  of  bed. 

"  11  est  sept  heure,  ma'mselle,  mais  vous  paraissez  indispose 
ce  matin.  Est-ce  que  vous  n'avez  pas  bien  dormi,  vous  ?" 

"  Pas  trop  bien  Minette,  j'ai  fait  des  reves  affreux.  Je  crains 
de  m'etre  trop  fatigue,  hier,  mais  dites  a  mon  oncle  que  je  de 
scend  ra  is  toute  de  suite." 


250  THE    WANDERER 

Minette  quitted  the  chamber  to  carry  the  message  to  Mr. 
Craddock,  who  was  impatiently  waiting  at  the  breakfast  table 
for  his  niece's  appearance,  and  Alice  having  hastily  made  her 
morning  toilet,  shortly  joined  her  uncle,  who  was,  as  usual,  all 
courtesy  and  attention.  He  did  not  make  any  allusion  to  the 
conversation  of  the  previous  evening,  and  Alice  had  been  so 
terrified  with  her  dream,  that  she  did  not  dare  to  introduce  the 
subject  of  the  Will,  as  she  had  resolved  to  do,  before  she  slept. 

After  breakfast,  her  uncle  proposed  a  ride  in  a  different  di 
rection  from  that  they  had  taken  the  day  before.  To  this 
arrangement  Alice  willingly  consented,  and  on  their  return, 
Mr.  Craddock  exerted  himself  to  find  other  amusements  for 
her.  Thus,  with  reading,  music,  and  conversation,  the  time 
would  have  passed  pleasantly  enough  had  not  Alice  been  pos 
sessed  with  a  foreboding  that  some  trouble  was  hanging  over, 
which  might  descend  at  any  moment,  and  she  dreaded,  while 
she  anxiously  looked  for  the  arrival  of  her  cousin  from  Jamaica. 

A  few  mornings  after,  she  was  again  awakened  from  her 
slumbers  by  Minette,  whose  countenance  sufficiently  expressed 
that  she  \vas  the  bearer  of  what  she  thought  would  be  welcome 
intelligence. 

"  Ma'mselle  does  not  know  that  a  surprise  awaits  her,  en 
bas,"  she  said,  in  the  odd  mixture  of  French  and  English, 
which  she  was  accustomed  to  use  when  she  imagined  she  was 
speaking  the  latter  language — "  all  same  comme  un  natif,"  as 
she  was  used  to  say. 

"  No,  Minette;  what  is  it1?"  inquired  Alice. 

"  Mam'selle's  cousin,  George,  has  arrive.  An  !  he  is  so  fine, 
un  si  bel  homme  ;  but  ma'mselle  is  not  overjoyed." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  very  glad,  Minette,"  said  Alice,  though  her 
pale  face  denied  her  words. 

"  Haste,  then,  et  vous  habillez  vous  ma'mselle,  Mr.  Crad 
dock  et  votre  cousin,  await  le  dejeuner." 

"  I  will  soon  attend  them,  Minette.  You  can  tell  them  so. 
I  shall  not  need  any  assistance  to  dress." 


THE    COUSIN'S    ARRIVAL.  251 

Minette  went  down  stairs  with  her  message,  and  was  soon 
followed  by  Alice,  who,  on  tapping  nervously  at  the  door  of 
the  breakfast-room,  was  received  by  her  uncle,  and  presented 
to  the  cousin,  of  whom  she  had  heard  so  much. 

The  young  man  rose  from  his  scat,  and  advancing,  took  his 
cousin's  hand ;  at  the  same  time  expressing  his  pleasure  in 
seeing  her. 

He  was  a  remarkably  handsome  youth  of  about  the  same 
age  as  Alice,  and  had  she  met  him  under  any  other  circum 
stances,  she  could  scarcely  have  helped  being  pleased  with 
him,  but  now  her  expressions  of  pleasure  were  constrained, 
and  she  was  so  nervous  that  it  was  with  difficulty  she  could 
maintain  the  appearance  of  satisfaction  that  she  felt  herself 
called  upon  to  assume. 

She  would  have  recognized  him  any  where  from  his  resem 
blance,  to  the  miniature,  although  he  was  now  a  young  man, 
and  that  was  the  portrait  of  a  child  ;  but  there  were  the  same 
earnest  dark  eyes,  and  black  curling  hair,  and  oval  contour  of 
visage,  and  the  same  clear  olive  complexion  which  he  had  in 
herited  from,  his  mother  who  was  of  Creole  descent,  Captain 
Fortesque  having  married  into  a  Hindoo  family  of  high  caste, 
and  considerable  wealth,  that  had  embraced  Christianity. 

After  breakfast  Mr.  Craddock  proposed  that  the  young  peo 
ple  should  ride  out  together,  and  that  Alice  should  enact  the 
part  of  cicerone  to  her  cousin,  as  he  had  business  of  importance 
on  hand  which  would  require  his  attention  at  home. 

Alice  could  not  well  have  objected  even  had  she  been  desi 
rous  of  so  doing,  and  together  they  rode  over  the  plantation. 
During  the  ride  she  found  that  her  cousin's  good  qualities  had  not 
been  misrepresented.  He  was  refined,  intelligent,  and  conver- 
sationable,  and,  so  far  as  she  could  judge,  appeared  to  possess 
an  excellent  disposition.  They  both  returned  from  their  ride 
in  good  spirits,  and  Mr.  Craddock,  who  watched  his  niece  nar 
rowly  though  cautiously,  appeared  to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with 
})is.  e^ppriment  in  bringing  them  together.  From  that  period, 


252  THE    WANDERER. 

for  the  month  George  remained  at  home,  he  always  accompa 
nied  her  in  her  rambles,  and  assisted  in  her  amusements  and  re 
creations  within  doors.  Mr.  Craddock  although  he  occasionally 
joined  the  party,  still  professing  to  be  closely  engaged  in  busi 
ness. 

At  the  end  of  this  period  George  Craddock  was  to  return  for 
twelve  months  to  Jamaica.  After  breakfast  the  day  before  his 
departure  from  Cuba,  his  father  desired  him  to  attend  him  to 
his  study. 

"  I  trust  you  will  be  able  to  dispense  with  your  customary 
jaunt  this  morning,  Alice/'  he  said,  smilingly  addressing  his 
niece.  "  You  know  George  leaves  us  to-morrow,  and  I  have 
some  little  affairs  of  business  to  arrange  with  him." 

Alice  willingly  assented,  and  Mr.  Craddock  and  his  son  ad 
journed  to  the  study,  leaving  the  young  lady  in  the  breakfast 
saloon. 

"  George,"  said  Mr.  Craddock,  when  they  were  seated  in  the 
study,  "  you  return  to-morrow  to  Jamaica  for  twelve  months,  and 
at  the  end  of  that  period  you  will  come  back  to  remain  here.  It 
is  my  wish  that  you  should  marry  and  settle  down  on  the  es 
tate.  Have  you  any  objection  to  make  to  this  arrangement  ?" 

"  None,  whatever,  sir,"  replied  the  young  man,  "provided 
the  lady  whom  I  marry  shall  be  one  of  my  own  choosing." 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Craddock,  "  I  think  there  is  no  difficulty 
to  be  anticipated.  You  have  been  much  in  the  company  of 
your  cousin  Alice  since  you  have  been  here,  and  from  what  I 
have  observed  I  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  she  is  distasteful 
to  you.  She  is  the  young  lady  whom  I  hope  to  see  your  wife 
as  soon  as  you  have  both  obtained  your  majority.  What  say 
you  to  this  arrangement  ]'* 

The  young  man  made  no  reply. 

"  Answer  me,  George,"  continued  his  father,  observing  his 
son's  hesitation.  "  Have  you  any  objection  to  make  to  my 
proposition  V 

"The  young  lady,  herself,  may  object,  sir,"  replied  the 
youth. 


A    STORMY    INTERVIEW  253 

"  That  is  not  to  the  point,  George.  Although  if  that  be  all 
I  do  not  think  there  is  much  probability  of  it.  You,  I  pre 
sume,  have  no  objection.  I  therefore  shall  myself  speak  to 
Alice,  in  your  presence,  this  afternoon,  and  shall  then  leave 
you  together.  I  shall  consider  the  matter  settled.  *This  is  all 
that  I  wished  to  speak  to  you  about.  You  can  now  go  and 
rejoin  Alice.  After  dinner  I  will  see  you  both  together." 

"  I  beg,  sir,"  said  George,  "  that  you  will  not  introduce  the 
subject  before  Alice.  At  least,  not  in  my  presence." 

"  And  pray,  why  not,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Craddock. 

'•  Because,  father,  we  have  already  spoken  of  it." 

"  Oh  ho  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Craddock  in  high  glee,  "  you  have 
been  beforehand  with  me,  eh  ?  Well  I  might  have  anticipated 
that,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  It  will  save  a  great  deal  of  trouble  ; 
but  I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  debarred  from  a  knowledge 
of  the  arrangements  that  you  young  folks  have  arrived  at." 

"  We  have  not  made  any  arrangements,  sir,"  said  the  young 
man,  much  embarrassed. 

"  Well,  then,  so  much  the  more  reason,  George,  that  I  should 
assist  you  and  give  my  sanction  to  your  engagement.  I  do 
not  particularly  desire  that  you  shall  be  married  before  you 
have  reached  the  age  of  twenty -one  ;  but  still,  if  you  are  both 
agreeable,  I  will  not  interpose  any  obstacle  to  a  more  speedy 


"  You  mistake  me  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  "  We  have  en 
tered  into  no  engagements,  nor  have  we  thought  of  anything  of 
the  kind." 

u  What  do  you  mean,  then,  sir,  by  saying  that  you  have 
conferred  together  upon  the  subject1?"  inquired  Mr.  Craddock 
in  an  angry  tone.  "  You  sir,  I  presume,"  he  continued  sar 
castically,  "  have  no  prior  engagement  ?  and  the  young  lady  I 
think  I  can  answer  for  myself." 

u  Father,''  said  the  young  man,  "  since  I  have  been  here  I 
have  spent  rnuch  of  my  time  with  my  cousin  Alice,  and  I  ac 
knowledge  to  have  seen  much  to  admire,  much  to  love  in  her 


254  THE    WANDERER. 

character  and  disposition.  I  have  admired  her  and  should  per 
haps  have  learnt  to  love  her,  had  she  not  intimated  to  me  one 
day — the  second  day  we  spent  in  each  other's  company — when 
I  playfully  introduced  the  subject,  of  marriage,  that  her  affec 
tions  were  Already  engaged.  She  said  it  might  seem  like  bold 
ness  on  so  short  an  intimacy  as  ours  to  make  such  a  confession 
but  she  had  particular  reasons  for  so  doing,  and  I  then  informed 
her  that  1  too  entertained  a  partiality  for  a  young  lady  whom 
I  had  met  in  Jamaica." 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Craddock,  "  this  is  a  very 
pretty  mutual  confession,  and  who  pray,  is  the  young  lady  of 
whom  you  speak1?" 

"  Miss  Mary  Barton,  sir,  the  daughter  of  the  Deputy  Com 
missary  General  at  Kingston." 

"  Indeed  !  and  you  have  proposed  to  her  1" 

"  No  sir,  I  have  seen  her  but  a  few  times  and  might  have 
transferred  my  partiality  to  my  cousin  Alice,  had  she  not  con 
fided  to  me  what  she  had  done.  As  regards  Miss  Barton  and 
myself,  1  should  not  have  thought  seriously  of  asking  her  hand 
without  first  informing  you." 

"  Very  dutiful,  indeed,  sir  !  but  permit  me  to  ask  you  one 
more  question.  What  is  the  name  of  the  gentleman  to  whom 
your  cousin  Alice  has  engaged  her  affections  ]" 

"  Father,  I  cannot  reply  to  that  question.  It  would  neither 
be  honorable  nor  delicate  in  me  to  do  so." 

"  But  I  know  who  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Craddock.  in  a  towering 
passion.  "  His  name  is  Gerald  Dalton.  A  paltry  tradesman's 
apprentice  in  London — a  beggar,  and  worse  for  aught  I  know  ; 
but  she  shall  never  see  him  again  if  I  have  to  shut  her  up  in  a 
convent  for  life  ;  and  you,  sir,  discard  all  idea  of  marrying 
this  Mary  Barton — whoever  she  be.  It  is  my  wish,  my  de 
mand  that  you  wed  your  cousin  Alice  Thornton,  and  if 
I  am  disobeyed,  you  know  me  well  enough  to  fear  my  anger. 
1  shall  disown  you  as  my  son — and  not  one  dollar  of  my  prop 
erty  shall  ever  be  yours.  You  shall  become  a  beggar,  sir, — a 


A    STORMY    INTERVIEW.  255 

beggar,    spurned  from  your  father's  door,  if  you  venture  near 
to  ask  an  alms " 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  said  the  youth,  his  indignation  aroused  by  this 
tirade  of  passionate  abuse,  "  that  I  have  ability  and  energy 
enough  to  earn  my  own  living,  even  if  I  were  visited  with  the 
severe  displeasure  you  threaten,  and  if  such  should  not  be  the 
case  I  would  not  seek  charity  at  the  door  of  my  father's 
house." 

•  "  Silence,  sir,"  thundered  Mr.  Craddock,  "  leave  my  presence 
and  think  over  what  I  have  said,  and  when  you  have  come  to  a 
wiser  conclusion  we  will  speak  of  this  matter  again.  Mean 
while,  I  will  deal  with  this  disobedient  girl." 

The  young  man  left  the  room  without  replying,  and  Mr. 
Craddock  shortly  after  rang  for  the  attendance  of  a  servant, 
whom  he  ordered  to  request  Miss  Thornton's  immediate  at 
tendance  in  the  study. 

Alice,  who  had  entertained  some  suspicion  of  the  cause  of 
the  private  interview  between  her  uncle  and  cousin,  received 
this  Message  with  ill  disguised  alarm. 

"  Where  is  Senor  George  ?"  she  demanded  of  the  servant  in 
the  best  Spanish  she  could  master. 

"  Jo  no  se'  Senorita,5'  replied  the  negro.  "  He  has  just  left 
Senor  Craddock's  room.  The  Seiior  wishes  to  see  the  Senorita 
immediately." 

Alice  obeyed  the  mandate  and  went  immediately  to  the 
study. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Mr.  Craddock,  in  answer  to  her  faltering 
tap  at  the  door.  The  dark  frown  was  on  his  brow  when  the 
young  lady  entered  ;  but  he  endeavored  to  assume  his  usual 
suavity  of  manner,  as  he  rose  and  offered  her  a  chair. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you  Alice,  my  love/'  he  said,  "to  ask  an 
explanation  of  a  conversation  which,  I  am  informed  by  my 
son  George,  took  place  between  you  and  he  a  day  or  two  after 
his  arrival  from  Jamaica." 

"  1  do   not  know,  uncle,  to  what  you   particularly  refer." 


256  THE    WANDERER. 

tremblingly  replied  the  young  lady,  "  we  have  discoursed  on 
so  many  and  such  different  subjects." 

"  Alice,"  said  Mr.  Craddock,  sternly,  "  this  is  subterfuge  on 
your  part.  You  well  know  to  what  conversation  I  allude. 
We  have  spoken  together  upon  the  subject  ere  now.  How 
ever,  since  your  bashfulness  perhaps,  prompts  you  to  pretend 
ignorance,  I  will  explain  that  to  which  I  refer.  It  was  a  con 
versation  relative  to  some  special  engagement  you  had  made, 
with  a  view  hereafter  to  matrimony.  Rather  a  delicate  sub 
ject,  allow  me  to  inform  you,  to  be  the  theme  of  conversation 
between  two  young  people  like  you  and  George.'' 

"I  cannot  explain,  uncle,  indeed,"  replied  the  young  lady. 
"  But  a  few  words  were  said  by  either  of  us,  and  my  cousin  it 
appears,  has  informed  you  of  their  import  ?" 

"  He  has,  Miss,"  said  Mr.  Craddock,  losing  his  assumed 
patience  and  good  temper.  "  I  only  sent  for  you  that  I  might 
have  his  words  corroborated  from  your  own  lips.  I  know 
perfectly  well  who  the  person  is  to  whom  you  alluded.  It  is 
that  beggar  Gerald  Dalton,  with  whom  you  had  the  misfortune 
to  be  brought  up  in  early  life,  before  I  rescued  you  from 
your  low  associations  in  Herrington.  I  have  been  led  to  hope 
that  your  good  sense  had  long  ago  led  you  to  forget  them,  and 
him.  When  I  permitted  you  to  write  to  Mrs.  Dalton,  and  to 
send  her  a  bank  note,  I  trusted  that  henceforward  all  commu 
nication  between  you  would  cease  except  the  annual  gift  which 
I  promised  you  you  should  transmit  her.  Since,  however, 
you  have  thus  abused  my  generosity,  I  shall  withdraw  that 
favor.  You  know  that  I  wish  you  to  marry  your  cousin.  You 
are  aware  of  the  benefits  that  will  accrue  to  yourself  by  so 
doing  ;  and  I  am  resolved,  on  my  part,  that  my  wishes  shall 
be  carried  out,  or  I  will  take  other  measures  that  will  punish 
you  for  your  contumacy  and  prevent  you  from  ever  again  see 
ing  or  even  holding  communication  with  any  of  the  low-bred  set 
who  have  gained  such  an  ascendancy  over  you.  George  leaves 
for  Jamaica  to-morrow.  I  give  you  till  then  to  make  up  your 


A   STORMY    INTERVIEW.  257 

mind  ;  after  that  I  shall  decide  for  myself,  and  my  decision 
will  be  irrevocable." 

"  Uncle,"  said  Alice,  finally,  "  my  decision  is  already  made, 
and  my  cousin  George,  whom  I  highly  esteem,  is  aware  of  it. 
It  is  needless  for  me  to  explain  it  to  you  since  you  already 
know  to  what  I  allude." 

"  Think  over  what  I  have  just  said,  Alice,"  continued  Mr. 
Craddock,  striving  to  control  his  rising  passion.  "  Perhaps 
to-morrow  your  good  sense  will  induce  you  to  change  your 
mind.  Think  of  your  loss  of  fortune  ;  of  the  indigence  that 
awaits  you  if  you  continue  to  oppose  my  wishes  for  your  wel 
fare  ;  and  then  let  me  know,  if  you  still  continue  to  cherish 
affection  for  one  who  has  doubtless,  ere  this,  forgotten  that 
you  ever  existed.  You  have  your  choice,  fortune  and  happi' 
ness,  and  my  favor,  or  my  repudiation,  and  poverty,  and 
wretchedness — "  or,  dropping  his  voice,  "  what  is  perhaps  still 
less  endurable — life-long  seclusion." 

"  Uncle,"  replied  Alice,  gaining  courage  from  despair,  "  you 
have  told  me  of  a  Will,  dictated  by  relatives  whom  I  never 
saw  nor  heard  of,  until  their  names  were  mentioned  by  you, 
who  have  made  me  the  heiress  to  a  large  fortune  if  I  consent 
to  arrangements,  which  I  might  once  perhaps  have  been  in 
duced  to  consent  to,  but  which  I  never  can  consent  to  now.  If 
I  fail  to  comply  with  the  requirements  of  this  Will,  I  have  been 
told  that  my  cousin  George  and  you  will  be  the  gainers.  Why, 
then,  do  you  urge  this  matter  upon  me  ?  You  have  carried  me 
away  from  those  whom  as  a  child  I  learnt  to  love.  You  have 
denied  me  the  poor  consolation  of  communicating  with  them. 
Only  once  have  I  been  permitted  to  let  them  know  that  I  am 
still  living.  I  have  never  seen  this  Will.  If  it  be  in  your  pos 
session,  permit  me  to  peruse  it,  and  if  it  really  demand  such 
a  sacrifice  on  my  part,  I  am  willing  to  make  it,  and  you  and 
George  can  lawfully  claim  the  estate.  Why  seek  to  coerce 
me  thus,  when  it  is  to  your  beneft,  that  I  should  disavow 
openly  my  intention  of  fulfilling  its  requirements.  Again,  I 


258  TIIE    WANDERER. 

say,  let  me  read  the  Will  and  I  will  cancel  my  right  to  any 
portion  of  the  property,  and  gladly  return  to  England." 

"  And  to  poverty  and  the  home  of  a  London  shopman," 
sneeringly  replied  Mr.  Craddock. 

"  To  poverty  if  necessary,"  replied  Alice  ;  ';  but  this  need  not 
be.  Gerald  Dal  ton  possesses  energy  and  spirit,  and  is  not 
destitute  of  education.  His  lot  need  not  necessarily  be  one 
of  poverty." 

"  Very  romantic  indeed  !"  said  Mr.  Craddock  ;  "  but  you 
forget  that  in  England,  a  lad  like  Gerald,  of  humble  birth,  has 
little  opportunity  of  making  his  way  in  the  world.  As  to 
your  modest  request  to  read  the  Will,  1  plainly  tell  you,  I  shall 
refuse  it.  I  have  the  Will  in  my  possession.  Whatever  be 
my  object  in  forcing  you  into  the  possession  of  fortune  to  my 
detriment,  I  shall  not  explain  to  you.  As  your  natural 
guardian,  for  you  have  no  relatives  but  George  and  myself 
living,  your  are  wholly  in  my  power,  and  that  you  must  have 
known  long  ago.  However,  you  will  think  better  of  this  con 
tumacy.  I  will  not  hear  another  word  now.  To-morrow  I 
shall  expect  your  reply  ;  and  the  result,  whether  it  involve 
your  happiness  or  misery,  will  depend  upon  your  own  good 
sense.  For  the  present  I  wish  you  good-day." 

Alice  rose,  and  quitting  the  room,  retired  to  her  own  apart 
ment,  where  she  spent  the  remainder  of  the  day,  until  sum 
moned  to  the  dinner  table,  where  she  met  her  uncle  and  cousin. 
Mr.  Craddock  had  entirely  effaced  all  semblance  of  ill-humor. 
His  conduct  was  as  kind  and  courteous  as  ever  ;  but  as  soon 
as  the  meal  was  finished,  he  retired,  saying  with  a  smile,  "  I 
shall  leave  you  two  young  people  to  amuse  each  other  this 
evening.  I  have  some  matters  on  hand  which  require  my  at 
tention." 

The  subject  of  conversation  between  Alice  and  her  cousin 
during  the  evening  naturally  turned  upon  the  stormy  inter 
views  with  Mr.  Craddock  in  the  morning.  The  young  man 
frankly  promised  to  support  his  cousin's  cause,  against  his 


SEPARATION.  259 

father,  and  Alice  resolved  that  whatever  might  be  the  conse 
quence,  she  would  not  swerve  from  her  resolve. 

On  the  morrow,  only  a  few  hours  before  the  vessel  on  board 
of  which  George's  passage  to  Kingston  was  taken,  arid  ready 
to  leave  the  port  of  Havana,  Mr.  Craddock  held  an  interview 
with  his  son  and  niece  together.  Both  adhered  to  their  ex 
pressed  resolution  of  the  previous  day.  Mr.  Craddock  flew 
into  a  towering  rage  ;  but  his  passion  was  of  no  avail  in  shak 
ing  the  resolve  of  his  son  and  niece.  Alice  bade  her  cousin  a 
kindly  farewell  ;  but  the  excitement  of  the  past  two  days  had 
been  too  much  for  her,  and  she  became  so  unwell  that  her 
maid  was  summoned  to  assist  her  to  her  room  ;  and  Mr. 
Craddock  accompanied  his  son  to  the  schooner. 

"  George,"  he  said,  after  they  had  reached  the  vessel,  "  I 
leave  you  here.  You  have  my  command  to  forego  any  further 
communication  with  the  young  lady  of  whom  you  spoke  to  me 
the  other  day.  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  hereafter  think  better 
of  whafy  I  have  said.  You  have  a  twelve-month  before  you.  I 
am  content  to  wait  that  time.  If  then  Alice  changes  her  mind 
will  you  promise  to  comply  with  my  wishes'?" 

"  If  my  cousin,  sir,  freely  and  of  her  own  accord  alters  her 
•resolution,  and  is  willing  to  accept  me,  as  a  suitor,  I  will  ;  but 
without  her  frjee  consent  be  obtained,  I  will  make  no  promise." 

"  Be  it  so,  obstinate  boy,"  said  Mr.  Craddock,  as  he  shook 
hands  with  his  son  and  wished  him  a  pleasant  passage.  He 
waited  on  the  quay  till  the  schooner  was  under  weigh  and  then 
returned  homewards. 

"  It  will  go  hard,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  turned 
away,  "  if  I  cannot  before  a  twelvemonth  passes  by,  control 
that  stubborn  girl  to  my  will.  I  have  been  too  easy  with  her 
hitherto." 

For  several  days  Alice  remained  seriously  unwell,  and  dur 
ing  this  period  her  uncle  was  assiduous  in  his  attentions.  All 
his  former  kindness  of  manner  returned,  and  he  never  once 
made  allusion  to  the  cause  of  their  estrangement  ;  but  it  was 


260  THE    WANDERER. 

the  calm  which  precedes  a  tempest.  Soon  after  she  was  re 
stored  to  her  accustomed  health,  she  was  again  subjected  to 
persecution  and  urged  to  comply  with  her  uncle's  desires,  and 
on  her  repeated  refusals  to  alter  her  resolve,  she  was  treated 
with  a  degree  of  harshness  to  which  she  had  been  hitherto  a 
stranger.  Four  months  of  the  twelve  months'  probation  passed 
by  and  Mr.  Craddock  had  been  unable  to  gain  a  single  point. 
He  now  came  to  a  desperate  resolution.  Alice  had  for  three 
months  been  forbidden  to  leave  the  house  or  to  hold  commu 
nication  with  any  one  but  her  maid  Minette.  Mr.  Craddock 
now  engaged  a  passage  to  France  for  himself,  his  niece,  and 
her  maid  without  informing  Alice  of  his  intentions.  She  knew 
nothing  of  the  contemplated  voyage  until  the  clay  before  the 
vessel  was  to  sail  for  Havre  de  Grace,  when  her  uncle  came  to 
her  room  and  ordered  her  to  prepare  for  a  voyage  to  Europe. 

"A  voyage  to  Europe,  uncle'?  Where  are  we  going1?"  she 
asked,  a  faint  gleam  of  hope  arising  in  her  mind  that  her  un 
cle  had  relented  and  was  going  to  return  her  to  her  friends  in 
England. 

"  To  France — to  Orleans,  where  you  were  at  school,  some 
months  since,"  was  the  reply. 

"Am  I  to  remain  there  ?"  she  asked. 

"  That  you  will  know  when  you  arrive  in  France,"  was  the 
reply.  "  We  sail  to-morrow,  so  you  have  little  time  enough 
to  get  ready." 

Although  this  sudden  proposition  for  departure  astonished 
Alice,  any  change  from  her  late  monotonous  life  was  welcome  ; 
besides  even  in  France,  she  would  be  nearer  the  friends  she  so 
ardently  longed  to  see  again.  Minette  was  overjoyed  at  the 
prospect  of  returning  to  her  own  country,  and  both  she  and  her 
mistress  set  to  work  with  alacrity  in  making  the  busy  prepa 
rations  necessary  on  so  short  a  notice.  At  the  cost  of  a  night's 
rest  all  was  in  readiness  on  the  following  morning,  and  before 
sunset  on  that  day  they  had  passed  the  Moro  Castle,  and  were 
on  their  way  to  Europe. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  JOURNEY.       261 

In  less  than  six  weeks  the  vessel  entered  the  port  of  Havre, 
and  Mr.  Craddock  immediately  set  out  for  Paris  without  al 
lowing  his  niece  a  days'  rest  at  Havre,  to  recruit  after  the  fa 
tigues  of  the  voyage. 

At  Paris,  greatly  to  the  regret  both  of  Alice  and  Minette, 
the  latter  was  discharged,  Mr/  Craddock  informing  her  that 
her  young  mistress  would  have  no  longer  occasion  for  her  ser 
vices,  and  two  days  after  Alice  was  once  more  in  the  city  of 
Orleans.  Without  even  stopping  here  at  a  hotel,  beyond  the 
time  necessary  to  obtain  a  meal  and  make  the  necessary  changes 
of  attire  after  the  rapid  journey  from  Havre,  for  they  had  rest 
ed  but  a  few  hours  in  Paris,  Mr.  Craddock  hired  a  fiacre  and 
proceeded  to  the  convent  where  Alice  had  formerly  been  placed 
at  school.  Arrived  there,  he  had  a  long  and  secret  interview 
with  the  superior,  at  the  conclusion  of  which,  Alice  was  sum 
moned  and  informed  that  she  was  again  placed  as  a  boarder  in 
the  convent. 

"  I  shall  remain  for  three  months  in  Paris,  Alice,"  he  said 
to  his  niece.  "  If  before  that  time  expires  you  change  your 
mind  and  are  willing  to  conform  to  my  wishes,  the  Superior 
will  let  me  know,  and  I  will  come  immediately  and  take  you 
back  to  Havana.  After  that  you  will  never  quit  the  convent. 
You  now  know  the  alternative  that  awaits  you.  If  you  are 
not  capable  of  acting  with  a  due  regard  for  your  own  welfare 
it  is  well  that  others  should  act  for  you.  Farewell,  and  let 
me  hope  that  better  thoughts  will  prevail  over  your  perverse- 
ness  and  obstinacy  of  disposition." 

Alice  was  overcome  with  terror.  She  had  fainted  in  the 
arms  of  one  of  the  attendants  and  had  not  heard  her  uncle's 
concluding  words.  He  hastily  left  the  room,  as  if  fearful  of 
trusting  to  his  own  strength  of  purpose,  and  after  holding  an 
other  long  conversation  with  the  superior  he  quitted  the  con 
vent  and  before  nightfall  was  on  his  way  to  the  French  capital. 


262  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

In  which  the  hero  of  the  story  is  found  to  have  made  a  more  successful  voy 
age.  He  visits  old  friends  and  receives  more  good  advice,  which  partially 
meets  the  usual  fate  of  good  advice,  and  accepts  the  offer  of  a  novel  situa 
tion. 

GERALD'S  voyage  to  Ceylon  was  a  successful  one.  He  had 
acquired  a  knowledge  of  business  in  the  hard  school  of  expe 
rience,  and  he  was  acting  in  behalf  of  men  who  were  themselves 
experienced  in  their  own  peculiar  business  matters.  His  trip 
on  board  the  Firefly  was  in  every  way  successful.  The  goods 
under  his  charge  were  profitably  disposed  of  at  Trincomale, 
and  according  to  previous  arrangement  he  left  the  ship  there 
to  proceed  to  Colombo,  where  his  uncle  Ashley  and  his  family 
resided.  He  had,  as  the  reader  is  aware,  more  in  view  than  the 
single  object  of  visiting  his  uncle's  family.  He  still  entertained 
the  hope,  that  the  stranger  who  was  believed  to  have  abducted 
Alice  Thornton  from  her  home,  and  who  had  visited  Colombo, 
as  it  appeared,  with  the  sole  object  of  obtaining  information  of 
her,  was  some  relative  of  hers  and  that  by  this  time  Mr.  Ash 
ley  might  have  heard  either  from  him  or  from  Alice.  Per 
haps,  he  thought,  as  this  person,  according  to  my  uncle's  letter, 
had  some  idea  of  again  visiting  India,  he  may  have  returned,  tak 
ing  Alice  with  him.  I  may  find  her  at  my  uncle's  house.  With 
this  lively  hope  animating  him,  he  set  about  the  preparations 
for  his  journey  with  an  alacrity  and  cheerfulness  to  which, 
since  he  had  received  the  harshly  written  letters  from  Eng 
land,  relating  to  his  disastrous  business  speculations  in  Cal« 
cutta,  he  had  been  a  stranger. 


THE   TRIP    TO    CEYLON.  263 

He  had  a  sufficient  supply  of  money  at  his  command,  and  he 
determined  to  make  the  journey  overland,  although  the  dis 
tance  was  full  two  hundred  miles,  and  even  then  he  would  be 
compelled  to  travel,  and  he  would  have  to  cross  a  lofty  and 
difficult  mountain  range  ;  but  one  of  his  objects  was  to  visit 
the  famous  Adam's  Peak,  and  he  was  not  to  be  deterred  by 
trifling  obstacles  from  undertaking  a  journey  which  promised 
to  abound  in  incident  and  hardy  adventure. 

Kollar  was  his  first  resting-place,  and  thence  he  proceeded  to 
Kandy,  the  ancient  capital  of  the  once  independent  kingdom 
of  that  name.  From  this  city,  which  he  found  little  more  than 
a  heap  of  ruins,  retaining  few  vestiges  of  its  former  populous- 
ness  and  wealth,  he  proceeded  on  the  direct  route  towards  the 
chain  of  mountains  of  which  Adam's  Peak  is  the  crowning  point 
and  the  centre.  The  journey  was  a  tedious  and  harassing  one, 
but  the  tedium  was  relieved  with  chasing  the  novel  and  noble 
game  which  was  to  be  found  by  beating  about,  under  the  direc 
tion  of  the  native  guides,  at  every  one  of  the  numerous  resting- 
places.  Finally,  after  several  days'  journey,  through  forest 
and  jungle,  and  across  swamps  and  morasses,  occasionally  ob 
taining  a  trifling  relief  from  the  fatigue  of  foot  travel,  or  the 
scarcely  less  fatiguing  and  still  more  wearisome  travel  by  ox 
wagon — by  sailing  in  a  canoe  down  one  or  other  of  the  numer 
ous  narrow  and  shallow  rivers  that  intersect  the  country  in 
every  direction — he  reached  the  peak,  and  resting  at  the  base 
for  a  day  to  recover  from  the  fatigue  of  the  previous  travel,  he 
*pent  another  day  in  ascending  and  descending  the  mountain, 
and  enjoying  the  splendid  view  from  the  summit ;  and  this  feat 
accomplished,  the  remaining  portion  of  the  journey  to  Colombo 
was  much  less  fatiguing,  the  roads  as  they  approached  that 
capital  becoming  gradually  better  and  more  commodious  for 
travelling.  Twenty-four  hours  after  leaving  the  peak,  the  bas 
tions  of  the  city  were  in  view,  and  the  young  man  felt  his  heart 
leap  with  joy  at  the  prospect  of  again  seeing  the  friends  from 
whom  he  had  been  so  long  separated. 


264  THE    WANDERER. 

His  uncle  had  received  no  intimation  of  the  visit,  nor  did  he 
know  in  what  direction  from  the  city  the  Mission  school,  of 
which  he  had  the  charge,  was  situated.  However,  this  was  a 
matter  of  small  moment,  as  he  had  no  doubt  he  could  readily 
find  Mr.  Ashley  by  making  inquiry  when  he  entered  the  city. 
He  was  even  saved  this  trouble,  for  on  reaching  the  pettah,  or 
inner  town,  almost  the  first  thing  that  attracted  his  attention 
was  a  crowd  of  Europeans  corning  out  of  a  building,  which  he 
was  informed  was  the  public  library,  that  day  opened  for  the 
first  time.  It  struck  him  that  it  was  not  improbable  that  his 
uncle  might  be  amongst  this  crowd,  and  he  advanced  towards 
it.  He  was  correct  in  his  judgment.  Mr.  Ashley,  looking  some 
what  yellow  in  complexion,  but  otherwise  little  changed  since 
Gerald  had  parted  with  him  in  London,  more  than  three  years 
before,  was  coming  down  the  steps  of  the  building  just  as  he 
reached  it,  and  behind  him  was  a  youth  whom  Gerald  had  no 
difficulty  in  recognizing  as  his  cousin  Henry.  He  advanced 
towards  them,  and  taking  his  uncle  by  the  hand,  asked  him 
after  his  health. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I'm  pretty  well,"  replied  Mr.  Ashley, 
"  but  you  have  the  advantage  of  me.  I  really  cannot  recall 
your  name,  though,  it  strikes  me  that  I  have  seen  your  fea 
tures  somewhere  before." 

"  Why,  it's  Cousin  Gerald  Dalton,  father,"  said  Henry  Ash 
ley,  advancing  and  shaking  the  young  man  heartily  by  the 
hand. 

"  Gerald !  what,  Gerald  Dalton !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ashley. 
"  Dear  me — Gerald  Dalton.  Why,  who  would  have  thought 
of  seeing  you  here  ?  Welcome,  welcome,  my  boy.  I  never 
should  have  known  you.  Bless  me !  how  you  have  grown, 
and  so  changed  too,  so  stout  and  brown,  and  in  a  sailor's  dress. 
We  see  so  many  sailors  here,  that  I  took  you  for  the  mate  of 
one  of  the  ships  in  port." 

"  I  knew  Gerald,  the  moment  I  saw  him,"  said  Henry. 

"Well,  never  mind,"  continued  Mr.  Ashley,  "we  are  going 


AN    UNEXPECTED    VISIT.  265 

home  to  dine.  My  bungalow  is  a  mile  or  so  beyond  the  sub 
urbs  of  the  city.  You  must  come  with  us,  and  enlighten  us  as 
we  walk  as  to  how  you  came  to  drop  down  so  unexpectedly 
in  our  midst.  How  surprised  and  delighted  your  aunt  will  be 
to  see  you." 

"Are  my  aunt  and  cousins  all  well?"  said  Gerald. 

"  All  quite  well.  The  climate  really  agrees  with  us  famous 
ly.  You  know  your  aunt  was  very  subject  to  nervous  attacks 
at  home,  in  England.  She  has  quite  got  over  them  now.  Nev 
er  has  had  a  day's  sickness  since  she  has  been  here,  and,  by  the 
bye,  you  will  have  two  new  cousins  whom  you  have  not  yet 
seen — twins,  and  as  pretty  a  pair  of  little  girls  as  ever  were 
seen." 

"  You  spoke  of  them,  sir,  in  your  letter  respecting  the  stran 
ger  who  visited  you  to  make  inquires  respecting  Alice  Thorn 
ton." 

"  Ay,  I  dare  say  I  did  ;  but  I  had  forgotten.  They  were 
born,  I  recollect  now,  sometime  before  I  wrote  that  letter ;  but 
you  remind  me  of  Alice,  poor,  dear  child !  I  hope  you  have 
received  some  intelligence  of  her  or  from  her  before  this  ?" 

"  None,  sir,"  replied  Gerald,  "not  a  word.-  I  was  in  hopes 
that  you  might  have  heard  of  her." 

"  No,  Gerald,  no.  I  have  heard  nothing.  Poor  child !  I 
ought  not  to  have  left  her  in  England.  I  should  have  brought 
her  to  Ceylon  with  me.  I  feel  that  I  have  grievously  failed  in 
the  fulfilment  of  my  promise  given  to  her  father  on  his  death 
bed  ;  but  I  acted  for  the  best." 

They  walked  on  for  some  time  in  silence,  Mr.  Ashley  think 
ing  of  the  probable  fate  of  Alice,  and  Gerald  keenly  disappoint 
ed  in  his  hope  of  at  least  hearing  something'  of  her  from  his 
uncle,  though  that  hope  had  rested  on  a  fragile  foundation. 

Henry  Ashley  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence  and  inter 
rupt  the  painful  current  of  thought. 

"  You  have  not  yet  told  us,  Gerald,  how  you  came  to  find 
us  out  in  this  out-of-the-way  part  of  the  world,"  he  said.  Thus 
12 


266  THE    WANDERER. 

reminded  of  his  mission,  Gerald  briefly  recapitulated  his  ad 
ventures  since  leaving  home,  omitting,  however,  for  the  pres 
ent,  the  unfortunate,  though  somewhat  ludicrous  result  of  his 
first  adventure  in  Calcutta.  "But  where  is  Frederick1?  you 
have  said  nothing  about  my  cousin  Frederick,"  he  said,  when 
he  had  concluded  his  story. 

"  Do  you  see  that  cruizer  lying  out  there  in  the  harbor,  with 
the  pendant  flying  at  the  main-royal  mast  head  1"  said  Henry 
pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  vessel. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Gerald. 

"  Frederick  is  on  board  of  her.  She  is  a  new  frigate  belong 
ing  to  the  East  India  Company,  and  Fred,  has  just  got  an  appoint 
ment  as  Assistant  Surgeon  in  the  service.  He  has  already 
been  one  cruize  on  board  the  Goa  brig  and  has  lately  been  re 
moved  to  the  frigate.  We  expect  him  at  home  to-night.  But 
have  you  embraced  the  professsion  of  a  sailor  ?  One  would 
think  so  to  look  at  your  rig." 

"  Not  exactly  so,"  replied  Gerald,  "  though  for  anything  I 
know,  at  present,  I  may  do  so ;  but  I  will  relate  my  adventures 
more  fully  when  we  get  home  and  I  have  had  something  to  eat, 
for  I  am  really  quite  hungry  as  well  as  tired,"  after  my  jour 
ney.  It  is  no  trifle  to  undertake  to  travel  overland  from  Trin- 
comale." 

"  Not  when  you  are  unused  to  travelling  in  the  jungle,  and 
through  the  forest,"  replied  Henry  ;  "  but  we  don't  think  much 
of  the  trip  here  ;  however,  here  we  are  nearly  home.  You  see 
that  pile  of  buildings,  there,  to  the  left,  jnst  beyond  that  grove 
of  cinnamon  trees  :  that's  the  mission  school,  and  the  house  be 
yond,  standing  amidst  the  plantation"  is  our  bungalow,  and  a 
very  pretty  place  you'll  say  it  is  when  you  get  there  and  have 
rested  yourself  and  had  time  to  look  about  you." 

"  You  intend  to  remain  with  us  for  some  time,  Gerald,  of 
course  ?"  said  Mr  Ashley.  "  A  visitor  from  so  great  a  distance 
must  not  pay  a  mere  passing  visit." 

"  That  will  depend  upon   circumstances,"  replied    Gerald. 


AN    UNEXPECTED    VISITOR.  267 

"  I  have  no  immediate  engagement,  nor  have  I  determined  ex 
actly  what  to  do.  I  wish  to  visit  the  United  States  ;  but  I 
shall  in  the  first  place  return  to  Calcutta." 

"Well,  then,  if  your  time  is  your  own,"  said  Mr.  Ashley 
"  you  can  surely  spare  us  a  portion  of  it,  after  so  long  a  sepa 
ration  ;  but  here  we  are  close  home ;  the  cinnamon  grove  con 
ceals  the  school-house  now,  but  you  can  hear  the  hum  of  the 
children's  voices,  and  here,  I  declare,  is  your  aunt  and  little 
Emma  with  her,  coming  to  meet  us.  They  have  seen  us  from 
the  house,  and  have  been  wondering,  no  doubt,  who  the  stran 
ger  is  accompanying  us.  How  surprised  your  aunt  will  be 
when  she  finds  out  who  it  is." 

Mrs.  Ashley  had  now  approached  close  to  the  party. 

"  I  have  brought  a  stranger  from  England,  to  share  our  hos 
pitality,  my  dear,'1  said  Mr.  Ashley,  presenting  Gerald  to  his 
wife. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Ashley,  extending 
her  hand  to  the  young  man.  "  Any  person  from  England  is 
welcome  and  doubly  so  when  he  brings  intelligence  of  the 
friends  we  have  left  behind  us.  Are  you  from  our  part  of  the 
country — from  Kent,  sir  1  Why,  bless  me  !  it  can't  be  possi 
ble.  Yes,  it  is  Gerald  Dalton.  Why,  Gerald,  my  dear,  who 
would  have  thought  of  seeing  you  out  here  f  and  the  affection 
ate  little  woman  embraced  him  as  ardently  as  if  he  had 
been  one  of  her  own  children  restored  to  her  after  a  long  ab 
sence. 

Eager  inquiries  were  again  made  after  absent  friends,  al 
though  Gerald  could  furnish  little  information  on  that  score 
since  he  had  been  very  little  in  Herrington  since  Mr.  Ashley 
had  left,  and  again  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  Alice 
Thornton  was  the  subject  of  regretful  comment. 

However,  dinner  was  served  and  waiting  the  return  of  Mr. 
Ashley  and  his  son  from  the  city,  and  soon  all  were  seated  at 
the  meal,  to  which  Gerald  did  ample  justice. 

"  You  will  take  up  your  abode  with  us,  of  course,"  said 


268  THE    WANDERER. 

Mrs.  Ashley  while  dinner  was  progressing.  "  Where  have  you 
left  your  luggage  ?" 

"  At  the  hotel  at  the  entrance  of  the  inner  town,"  replied 
Gerald.  "  Of  course  I  intended  to  put  up  here,  if  you  hadroom 
for  me,  and  I  left  orders  to  have  it  sent  to  your  residence. 
You  see  that  I  was  determined  that  you  should  be  my  hosts 
for  one  night  whether  you  had  accommodations  or  not,"  he  laugh 
ingly  added. 

"  Quite  right.  Where  else  should  you  put  up  while  we  have 
a  roof  to  shelter  you,"  answered  Mrs.  Ashley.  "  Mr.  Ashley 
is  going  to  send  the  bullock  cart  to  the  city  to  bring  home 
some  marketing  this  afternoon,  and  the  driver  can  call  at  the 
hotel  for  your  effects.  If  you  trust  to  their  being  sent  on,  you 
may  wait  a  week." 

"  At  the  end  of  which  period,  I  expect  to  be  on  my  way 
back  to  Calcutta,"  said  Gerald. 

"Nonsense.  Who  would  ever  think  of  paying  so  short  a 
visit  as  that.  You  must  stop  with  us  a  month  at  least,"  said 
Mr.  Ashley.  "  Besides  there  is  no  ship  now  in  port  bound 
to  Calcutta.  Frederick  will  be  up  here  in  the  course  of  an 
hour  or  so  and  he  will  be  rejoiced  to  see  his  old  playmate." 

"  That  he  will,  indeed,"  observed  Mrs.  Ashley.  "  How  well 
he  looks  in  his  uniform,"  she  added,  with  a  mother's  pride. 

"  You'll  stay  with  us  a  month,  won't  you,  Gerald  ?"  said 
Henry. 

"  Since  as  it  seems  you  are  determined  to  insist  upon  it," 
said  Gerald,  "  and  as  I  may  perhaps  have  letters  sent  on  here 
from  Calcutta  in  the  course  of  that  time,  I  suppose  I  must  con 
sent." 

'•'  Well,  then  that  matter  is  arranged,"  said  Mrs  Ashley,  "  so 
we'll  say  no  more  on  the  subject.  Now,  if  you  like,  I  will 
show  you  to  a  room,  which  you  can  appropriate  to  yourself. 
Probably  you  may  wish  to  rest  awhile,  and  we  will  call  you 
when  Frederick  comes." 

Gerald  readily  assented  to  this  arrangement,  and  having 


PLEASANT   ARRANGEMENTS.  269 

been  shown  to  an  apartment  and  provided  with  a  change  of 
linen  clothing,  till  his  luggage  should  arrive,  he  threw  himself 
upon  the  cool,  cane  lounge,  and  soon  fell  asleep.  Towards 
sunset  he  was  awakened  by  his  cousin  Henry  who  raninto-the 
room  to  tell  him  that  Frederick  had  come  and  was  extremely 
anxious  to  see  him.  He  quickly  roused  himself  and  making  a 
rapid  toilet,  joined  his  uncle  and  cousins  in  the  verandah. 
Frederick  had  grown  so  tall  and  looked  so  different  to  the  boy 
he  had  known  him,  in  his  naval  uniform,  that  Gerald  confessed 
he  would  not  have  recognized  him  so  readily  as  he  had  his 
brother  Henry,  and  he  almost  envied  him  his  good  fortune 
when  he  saw  him  looking  so  manly  and  handsome.  Mrs.  Ash 
ley  soon  joined  the  party  and  the  evening  was  spent  in  talking 
of  home  and  old  friends,  and  in  listening  to  a  more  detailed 
account  of  Gerald's  adventures,  and  in  speculation  as  to  the 
fate  of  Alice,  to  whom  all  the  family  had  been  greatly  attached. 

The  Mysore,  the  new  frigate  to  which  Frederick  wits  at 
tached,  was  going  to  remain  in  port  for  four  or  five  weeks,  when 
she  was  bound  to  Bombay,  and  as  there  was  a  greater  proba 
bility  of  Gerald's  finding  a  vessel  bound  to  Calcutta  at  Bom 
bay  than  at  Colombo,  where  he  might  wait  for  months,  the 
young  surgeon  pressed  his  cousin  to  remain  until  the  frigate 
sailed,  and  take  passage  with  him. 

"  I  would  have  no  objection  to  go  to  Bombay,"  replied 
Gerald,  "provided,  in  the  meantime,  no  vessel  sails  for  Cal 
cutta  ;  but  the  Company's  cruizers  do  not  carry  passengers, 
and  I  cannot  get  any  appointment  on  board  a  vessel  of  that 
description." 

"  I  think  I  can  manage  that,"  replied  Mr.  Ashley.  "  The 
captain  of  the  frigate  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  at  my  request, 
will,  I  have  no  doubt,  gladly  give  you  a  passage." 

"  And  you  can  mess  in  the  ward  room,  with  the  officers," 
said  Frederick.  "  You  will  find  them  a  capital  set  of  fellows." 

"  If  you  think  it  can  be  managed,  I  am  agreeable,"  said  Gerald, 
"  and  shall  be  greatly  obliged  to  you,  for  I  should  like  to  visit 


270  THE    WANDERER. 

Bombay.  It  seems,"  he  added,  "that  my  every  wish  is  to  be 
anticipated." 

"We  don't  often  have  visits  from  our  relatives  in  England," 

O  / 

said  Mrs.  Ashley.  "We  must  make  the  most  of  them  when 
they  do  come." 

The  next  morning  Gerald  was  shown  around  the  Mission, 
and  he  afterwards  accompanied  Mr.  Ashley  and  his  cousin 
Frederick  on  board  the  Mysore,  where  he  was  introduced  to 
the  commander  and  an  offer  of  a  passage  to  Bombay  freely 
tendered.  The  crew  were  all  in  good  health,  and  as  Frederick 
in  consequence  had  very  light  duties  to  perform,  the  command 
er,  at  the  further  request  of  Mr.  Ashley,  readily  gave  him  leave 
of  absence  for  a  fortnight  on  account  of  the  arrival  of  his  rela 
tive  from  England,  and  it  was  arranged  that  a  series  of  athlet 
ic  amusements,  peculiar  to  the  island  should  be  gotten  up  for 
Gerald's  entertainment.  Elk  and  wild  boar  hunts  were  devised, 
and  if  practicable  it  was  resolved  that  Gerald  should  witness 
an  elephant  hunt  before  he  left. 

All  these  arrangements  were  successfully  carried  out,  and 
the  time  passed  away  agreeably,  the  evenings,  when  it  was  not 
necessary  for  the  enthusiastic  huntsmen  to  encamp  out  all 
night,  being  spent  in  conversation  at  home,  where  Gerald  suc 
ceeded  in  making  himself  an  established  favorite  with  his  youn 
ger  cousins,  the  duplicate  twins. 

When  narrating  his  adventures  since  leaving  Herrington, 
the  young  man  had  refrained  from  making  any  allusion  to 
the  letters  he  had  received  from  Mr.  Hoffmann  and  his  mother 
and  the  vicar  in  reply  to  his  account  of  the  sale  of  the  goods. 
But  one  day  while  walking  out  with  his  uncle,  neither  of  his 
cousins  being  present,  he  spoke  of  those  letters  and  stated  his 
intention  not  to  return  home  until  of  their  own  accord  his 
friends  had  expressed  regret  for  their  conduct  and  for  the  ex 
pressions  they  had  made  use  of  when  writing  to  him. 

"  You  are  acting  wrongfully,  Gerald,"  said  Mr.  Ashley, 
when  he  had  listened  to  his  nephew's  explanation  and  exculpa- 


GOOD   ADVICE.  271 

tion  of  his  own  conduct.  "  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  feel  keen 
ly  the  misinterpretation  that  has  been  put  upon  your  action  in 
this  matter.  I  truly  believe  that  you  did  the  best  you  could 
for  your  employers  ;  and  you  know  that  we  all  have  laughed 
over  the  description  of  the  collection  of  oddities  that  your  friends 
sent  out  to  India  for  sale.  It  is  only  a  wonder  to  me  that  you 
disposed  of  many  of  the  goods  in  any  way  whatever ;  but  by 
remaining  abroad  you  give  Mr.  Hoffmann  and  his  friends  rea 
son  to  believe  that  they  are  justified  in  condemning  you.  You 
can  procure  a  letter  from  the^  consignee  of  the  Seringapatam, 
who,  you  say,  told  you  that  the  goods  were  unsaleable,  which 
will  go  a  long  way  towards  exculpating  you,  and  you  can  show 
that  letter  yourself  to  Mr.  Hoffmann,  and  convince  him  that  he 
has  done  you  injustice.  If  he  is  a  reasonable  man,  he  will 
readily  confess  that  he  has  considered  your  conduct  rashly,  and 
will  be  sufficiently  punished  for  his  injustice  towards  you,  in 
feeling  that  he  has  wronged  you.  I  do  not  attempt  to  palliate 
his  conduct  in  misrepresenting  you  to  your  mother  and  your 
friends  at  Herrington ;  but  you  are  yourself  committing  a 
grievous  wrong,  a  wrong  that  you  will  one  day  deeply  regret 
having  committed,  in  allowing  your  indignation  to  fall  upon 
the  vicar  and  upon  your  mother.  They  have  been  misled,  and 
as  you  say  their  letters  were  written  in  sorrow  not  in  anger, 
you  are  obstinately  maintaining  a  false  position  by  your  pre 
sent  conduct,  when  a  proper  course  of  action  would  soon  rein 
state  you  in  the  good  opinion  of  all.  Be  guided  by  me  and 
act  as  I  have  advised  you.  How  long  is  it  since  you  have 
written  to  your  mother  V 

"  After  I  returned  from  the  islands,  I  then  wrote  in  reply  to 
letters  I  found  awaiting  me  in  Calcutta,  sir,"  replied  Gerald. 

"  Then  write  to  her  again  from  this  place  ;  tell  her  that  you 
are  sorry  for  the  harsh  expressions  you  permitted  to  escape 
from  your  pen  in  the  moment  of  indignation,  arid  promise  to 
return  home  as  soon  as  convenient.  Remember,  Gerald,  she 
has  no  one  but  you  to  care  for  in  this  world,  since  poor  Alice 


212  THE    WANDERER. 

has  been  taken  from  her,  and  Alice  could  never  have  been  to 
her  what  you  are  and  ever  must  be  while  she  lives.  Beg  her 
to  forgive  your  petulance  and  passion,  and  I  promise  you,  you 
will  feel  happier  when  you  have  done  this  ;  and  when  you 
return  to  Calcutta,  obtain  a  justification  of  your  conduct  from 
responsible  persons  there,  and  write  to  Mr.  Hoffmann.  You 
need  not  humble  yourself  in  doing  this,  but  if  he  be  a  man  of 
correct  feeling  your  letter  will  humble  him,  and  when  he  sees 
you  again  he  will  readily  acknowledge  his  injustice  and  be  more 
desirous  of  serving  you  than  before  you  left  England." 

"  I  will  follow  your  advice  in  regard  to  my  mother,  uncle," 
said  Gerald,  who  had  been  much  affected  with  the  first  portion 
of  his  uncle's  remarks,  "  but,"  and  his  voice  changed  its  tremu 
lous  tone,  to  one  of  deep  and  scornful  indignation,  "  to  Mr. 
Hoffmann  I  will  not  write  again  until  he  shall  first  freely  ac 
knowledge  the  gross  wrong  he  has  done  me.  1  could  sooner 
pardon  his  abusive  letter  to  me  than  his  base  conduct  in  en 
deavoring  to  represent  my  conduct  in  a  falsje  light  to  my 
mother  and  to  Mr.  Pearce." 

"  He  did  not  know  he  was  doing  so  in  the  heat  of  his  anger 
at  having  suffered  such  a  loss,  Gerald,"  mildly  replied  Mr. 
Ashley. 

"  He  suffer  loss,  in  the  trash  !  the  unsaleable  rubbish  he  placed 
in  my  charge  !"  cried  'Gerald,  "he  was  more  than  paid  by  his 
share  of  the  paltry  remittance  I  sent  home." 

"  But  others  did  through  him,  if  he  did  not,  Gerald,"  said 
Mr.  Ashley,  "and  he  himself  no  doubt  fancied  that  he  had  also 
suffered  with  them." 

"  Then  let  him  of  his  own  accord  discover  that  he  was 
wrong,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I  have  resolved  never  to  write 
to  him  again  until  he  writes  to  beg  my  pardon  for  the  wrong 
he  has  done  me." 

"  You  will  regret  this  obstinacy  and  pride,  Gerald." 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  uncle.  I  will  not  humble  myself  to  that 
man  nor  to  his  associates.  I  will  write  to-morrow  to  my  mo- 


THE    DELAYED    LETTER.  273 

ther  and  dispatch  the  letter  by  the  next  mail  that  leaves  this 
place  for  England.  I  acknowledge  that  I  have  acted  hastily  and 
unkindly  in  condemning  her  and  I  am  sorry  that  I  sent  it ;  but 
write  to  Mr.  Hoffmann  !  never  /" 

Mr.  Ashley  forbore  to  press  the  subject  further,  and  on  the 
following  day  Gerald  wrote  to  his  mother  a  long  letter,  full  of 
expressions  of  affection  and  kindness,  and  though  he  did  not 
promise  to  return  home  immediately,  he  said  that  he  would 
write  by  every  opportunity.  He  begged  her  to  forgive  any 
unkind  expression  she  might  have  discovered  in  his  last  letter, 
for  he  had  scarcely  knew  what  he  had  written,  his  mind  at  the 
time  of  writing  had  been  so  agitated,  and  he  enclosed  in  the 
letter  a  draft  for  £20,  out  of  the  profits  of  his  late  successful 
voyage  from  Calcutta  to  Ceylon,  as  a  proof  that  he  was  doing 
well,  and  of  his  desire  that  she  should  share  his  good  fortune. 

This  duty  done,  he  acknowledged  to  his  uncle  that  he  felt 
his  mind  relieved  of  half  its  burden. 

The  day  was  now  nearly  at  hand  on  which  the  Mysore  was 
to  sail  for  Bombay,  and  yet,  although  one  mail  had  arrived 
from  Bengal,  he  had  received  no  letters  from  the  consignee, 
whom  he  had  directed  to  send  to  Colombo  any  letters  that  he 
might  receive  from  England,  directed  to  Gerald  Dalton.  But 
on  the  morning  on  which  the  frigate  got  underweigh,  a  second 
mail  arrived,  bringing  the  letter  from  Mrs.  Dalton,  containing 
information  of  the  brief  letter  she  had  received  from  Alice  and 
also  informing  her  son  that  she  had  heard  from  Mr.  Brower. 
This  letter  as  the  reader  is  already  aware  should  have  reached 
Gerald  sooner,  but  various  causes  had  united  to  delay  its  ear 
lier  arrival  at  its  destination. 

This  letter  Gerald  did  not  receive  until  the  frigate  had  left 
the  port  of  Colombo,  the  mail  having  been  brought  on  board 
by  the  pilot,  consequently  Mr.  Ashley  was  ignorant  of  its 
tenor. 

It  had,  however,  the  opposite  effect  to  that  which  the  widow 
had  hoped  for.     "  I  would  go  to  the  United  States  and  see  this 
12* 


274  THE    WANDERER. 

Mr.  Brower  at  the  earliest  opportunity,"  he  said,  after  having 
read  the  letter  to  his  cousin,  "  but  I  have  an  idea  that  this  man 
whoever  he  be,  who  has  obtained  this  strange  control  over 
Alice  intends  to  bring  her  out  to  India.  He  expressed  some 
intention  of  returning  here,  to  your  father,  you  recollect.  I 
shall  therefore  remain  here  longer  than  I  anticipated.  I  will 
find  Alice  if  possible,  and  if  my  endeavors  are  fruitless,  I  will 
then  visit  the  United  States,  and  return  thence  to  England, 
and  mother  and  I  will  go  back  to  America  and  settle  there." 

The  young  surgeon  was  of  the  same  opinion  as  his  cousin, 
respecting  Alice,  although  he  said  Gerald's  chance  of  discov 
ering  her  was  a  very  feeble  one.  There  was,  he  said,  no  satis 
factory  proof  that  the  person  who  had  assumed  the  strange 
guardianship  over  her  would  return  to  India.  Still  the  remark 
he  had  made  to  Mr.  Ashley  led  to  that  inference. 

Gerald,  on  the  arrival  of  the  Mysore  at  Bombay,  wrote  to 
his  mother  again,  informing  her  of  his  resolution,,  and  giving 
her  his  reasons  for  having  formed  it. 

The  Captain's  clerk  of  the  Mysore  had  died  on  the  passage 
from  Colombo  to  Bombay,  and  on  the  arrival  of  the  frigate  at 
the  latter  port,"  the  Captain  offered  the  situation  to  Gerald. 
The  offer  was  readily  accepted,  and  thus  the  young  man  found 
himself  duly  enrolled  as  one  of  the  crew  of  the  Company's 
cruizer. 


VISIT    TO    SINGAPORE.  275 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Showing  how  the  noble  Dane  was  right  when  he  said,  "  There  are  more 
things  in  Heaven  and  Earth,  Horatio,  than  e'er  were  dreamed  of  in  our 
philosophy." 

AFTER  lying  a  few  weeks  in  the  port  of  Bombay,  and  having 
been  on  a  short  cruise  up  the  Persian  Gulf,  the  captain  of  the 
Mysore  received  orders  to  sail  for  the  Yellow  Sea.  This  order 
was  received  with  joy  by  all  on  board,  for  officers  and  crew 
were  alike  tired  of  lying  in  a  port  possessing  so  few  fascinations 
as  Bombay.  Gerald  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  a  change 
of  scene  although  his  present  post  afforded  him  little  opportu 
nity  of  hearing  of  Alice  or  her  self-constituted  guardian,  even 
if  he  should  have  returned  to  India,  and  have  brought  her  with 
him.  Another  matter  occasioned  the  young  man  no  little  an 
noyance.  He  knew  not  how  he  should  get  possession  of  the 
letter  which  he  expected  to  arrive  in  the  course  of  a  few 
months  from  his  mother  in  reply  to  that  which  he  had  written 
her  from  Colombo.  He  had  requested  it  to  be  directed  to 
him,  in  the  care  of  his  uncle  Ashley,  anticipating  the  return  of 
the  frigate  to  Ceylon,  and  this  voyage  of  indefinite  duration 
to  the  coast  of  China  rendered  the  receipt  of  letters  from  any 
part  of  the  world  very  uncertain.  His  only  resource  was  to 
wait  with  patience  until  the  cruise  should  expire, when  the  My 
sore  would  either  return  to  Colombo,  or  sail  for  some  port 
from  which  he  could  communicate  with  Mr.  Ashley  and  request 
his  letters  to  be  forwarded  to  him. 

In  due  time  the  frigate  reached  her  cruising  ground  and  there 
sailing  and  countersailing,  backwards  and  forwards  along  the 
Chinese  coast,  sometimes  stretching  off  to  the  Phillipine  or 


216  THE    WANDERER. 

Loo  Choo  Islands,  occasionally  going  into  some  minor  port  on 
the  coast,  the  Mysore  remained  on  the  station  for  two  months  : 
that  short  period  appearing  to  have  lengthened  itself  into  two 
years,  so  speedily  did  the  crew  tire  of  their  new  cruising  ground 
and  long  to  return  to  some  more  hospitable  station  ;  such  strange 
beings  arc  sailors  and  so  prone  to  tire  of  that  which  but  a 
short  time  before  they  looked  forward  to  with  delight. 

It  was  therefore  with  no  little  gratification  that  in  falling  in 
with  the  commodore's  ship  of  the  squadron,  off  Canton,  they 
heard  orders  given  to  sail  for  Singapore  and  there  await  fresh 
orders  from  Bombay. 

Communication  could  be  readily  had  at  Singapore  with 
Bombay,  Calcutta,  Colombot  or  any  other  part  of  the  East 
Indies,  still  from  the  nature  of  the  orders  he  had  received,  the 
captain  of  the  frigate  had  every  reason  to  expect  a  long  deten 
tion  in  the  harbor  of  that  beautiful  and  thriving  dependency. 

The  island  was  reached  within  a  fortnight  after  the  vessel's 
prow  had  been  turned  westward.  The  officers  freely  visited 
the  shore  and  partook  of  the  hospitalities  of  the  merchants  on 
the  island,  and  the  crew  were  allowed  shore-leave  at  stated  in 
tervals,  those  remaining  on  board  being  employed  in  refitting 
and  tarring  the  rigging  and  painting  the  ship,  which  had  suf 
fered  severely  from  the  tempestuous  weather  so  often  encoun 
tered  in  the  Yellow  sea. 

The  business  alacrity  everywhere  visible  on  shore,  the  many 
attractive  rides  and  drives  over  the  island,  the  frequency  of  the 
entertainments  given  by  the  merchants  and  dignitaries,  and  the 
lively  scene  in  the  harbor,  where  lay  vessels  of  every  European 
commercial  nation,  and  Chinese  junks  in  almost  countless  num 
bers  ;  the  abundance  and  cheapness  of  fresh  fruits  and  vegeta 
bles,  and  the  delightful  climate  of  this  little  tropical  paradise, 
rendered  the  change  from  the,  solitary  cruise  from  which  they 
had  lately  returned  doubly  grateful,  and  every  one  on  board 
participated  in  the  general  feeling  of  gladness. 

Gerald  immediately  upon  the  ship's  arrival  had  written  to 


VISIT    TO   SINGAPORE 

his  uncle,  at  Colombo,  and  to  Mr.  Thompson,  at  Calcutta,  re 
questing  that  any  letters  that  might  be  awaiting  him  should  be 
forwarded  to  him  at  Singapore,  and  this  task  accomplished,  he 
entered  freely  into  the  pleasures  of  the  hour,  and  endeavored 
to  nerve  himself  with  patience  to  await  the  long  time  that  must 
yet  elapse  before  he  could  hear  from  his  friends. 

In  spite  of  all  his  endeavors  a  singular  presentiment  of  some 
coming  evil  haunted  him  to  such  a  degree  that  he  could  not 
shake  it  off.  His  situation  as  captain's  clerk  relieved  him  from 
the  duty  of  keeping  the  customary  anchor-watch  while  in  port, 
but  he  generally  remained  up  during  the  first  watch,  convers 
ing  with  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  deck,  for  if  he  retired  early 
to  rest,  the  strange  foreboding  of  approaching  evil  which 
occupied  his^mind,  led  to  frightful  dreams  which  seemed  still 
further  to  increase  the  gloomy  impressions  which  surrounded 
his  waking  hours,  when  not  actively  employed.  He  spoke  to 
his  cousin  on  the  subject  but  Frederick  merely  endeavored  to 
laugh  him  out  of  his  gloomy  conceits. 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  my  dear  fellow,"  he  would  say,  "  you  are 
suffering  under  a  slight  attack  of  hypochondria.  You  should 
take  more  exercise.  Your  occupation  of  quill  driving  is  too 
sedentary.  You  must  not  permit  your  mind  to  brood  over 
silly  fancies.  You  are  too  anxious  about  those  letters  you  are 
expecting.  I  have  not  heard  from  home  since  we  left  Colom 
bo,  and  yet  I  do  not  worry  myself  about  things  J  cannot  help. 
In  the  course  of  a  few  days  we  shall  hear  from  Ceylon  and  Cal 
cutta  too,  and  then  I  warrant  you'll  find  everything  right." 

"  I  trust  so,"  Gerald  would  reply. 

"  Then  think  so.  It's  never  any  use  foreboding  evil.  It's 
bad  enough  when  it  comes  ;  but  all  the  lighter  for  coming 
without  being  anticipated.  The  anticipation  is  generally  worse 
than  the  reality."  And  so  Gerald  endeavored  to  school  him 
self  to  think,  but  still  all  his  efforts  were  fruitless,  and  he  grew 
more  desponding  every  day,  as  the  time  drew  near  when  a 
reply  might  be  expected  to  the  letter  he  had  despatched  to  his 
Uncle- Ashley. 


218  THE    WANDERER. 

One  day  the  officers  of  the  Mysore  gave  a  party  on  board 
to  the  merchants  and  their  ladies.  Everything  had  passed  off 
pleasantly,  and  Gerald,  who  had  joined  in  the  dance  several 
times  during  the  evening,  felt  his  spirits  much  revived.  It 
was  near  midnight  when  the  guests  left  the  frigate,  and  after 
they  had  gone  Gerald  walked  the  deck  for  some  time,  smoking 
a  cigar  and  talking  with  his  cousin. 

"  1  think  you  were  right,  Fred,"  he  said,  "  when  you  told 
me,  the  other  day,  that  I  did  not  take  sufficient  exercise.  I 
feel  better  to-night  than  I  have  done  for  a  long  time,  not  that 
my  bodily  health  is  improved,  for  it  is  always  good ;  but  I 
have  taken  a  great  deal  of  violent  exercise  to-night,  and  I  feel 
much  more  cheerful  than  I  have  done  since  we  entered  this 
port." 

"  Of  course  you  do,"  returned  Frederick.  "  You  wanted 
exercise,  nothing  more.  You  were  beginning  to  feel  a  little 
home-sick.  I  have  felt  so  myself  at  times  ;  but  now,  take  my 
advice,  and  don't  overdo  the  thing.  Go  below  and  turn  in  at 
once,  and  to-morrow  you'll  find  yourself  quite  another  being." 

The  young  men  descended  to  the  wardroom  together,  and 
Frederick  retired  to  his  hammock  ;  but  Gerald,  not  feeling 
sleepy,  seated  himself  on  a  stool,  opened  his  chest,  and  taking 
out  a  book,  commenced  reading.  The  book  he  had  chosen  out 
of  the  few  that  the  chest  contained,  was  a  volume  of  the  Pil 
grim's  Progress,  which  had  been  given  him  by  his  mother  a 
day  or  two  before  he  had  left  Abbottsford  for  Lon'don.  It  was 
among  the  latest  souvenirs  from  her  that  he  possessed. 

On  the  fly  leaf  his  name  was  witten  in  her  hand-writing, 
and  beneath  was  a  quotation  from  Cowper — her  favorite 
poet. 

Gerald's  eye  on  opening  the  volume  chanced  to  fall  upon 
this  verse  : 

"  Could  Time,  his  flight  reversed,  restore  the  hours 
When  playing  with  thy  vesture's  tissued  flowers." 


VISIONS    AND   DREAMS.  279 

"  The  violet,  the  pink  and  jessamine, 
I  pricked  them  into  paper  with  a  pin." 

("  And  thou  was't  happier  than  myself,  the  while 
Would  softly  speak,  and  stroke  my  head  and  smile.") 

"  Could  those  few  pleasant  hours  again  appear, 

Might  one  wish  bring  them  :     Would  I  wish  them  here  1" 

"  I  would  not  trust  my  heart — the  dear  delight 
Seems  so  to  be  desired,  perhaps  I  might." 

"  But  no  :  What  here  we  call  our  life  is  such — 
So  little  to  be  loved,  and  those  so  much." 

"  That  I  should  ill  requite  thee  to  constrain, 
Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again." 

Gerald,  at  Mrs.  Dal  ton's  request,  had  read  this  entire  poem 
of  Cowper's,  "  On  the  Receipt  of  his  Mother's  Picture,"  during 
the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  she  had  presented  him  with 
this  little  memento,  and  when  placing  the  book  in  his  hands 
before  he  retired  to  rest,  she  said  : 

';  Gerald,  in  a  few  days  you  will  be  on  the  ocean,  bound  to 
a  distant  country.  I  sincerely  hope  we  shall  meet  again,  my 
son  ;  but,  perhaps,  it  may  not  be.  If  not — if  before  you  return 
to  England  I  shall  have  passed  into  the  tomb,  and  if  the  disem 
bodied  spirit  be  permitted  to  watch  over  the  welfare  of  those 
whom  they  have  loved  pn  earth,  my  spirit  will  be  ever  hovering 
around  you,  Gerald,  until  yours  rejoins  mine  in  a  better  world. 
It  is  a  gloomy  fancy  that  has  possessed  me  this  evening,  Gerald  ; 
lowness  of  spirits,  occasioned  by  your  approaching  departure 
and  my  own  poor  health,  I  suspect  has  been  the  cause  of  it, 
and  I  will  try  to  overcome  it :  but,  Gerald,  I  have  written  a 
stanza  from  the  poem  you  read  aloud  to-day  in  the  fly  leaf  of 
this  book,  and  should  I  be  removed  hence  before  we  meet 
again,  when  your  eyes  read  those  lines,  cease  to  grieve  for  me, 
but  rather  believe  that  I  am  happier  in  heaven  than  I  have 
been  here,  and  am  only  waiting,  to  complete  my  happiness,  for 
you  to  rejoin  me." 


280  THE   WANDERER. 

"  You  must  not  give  way  to  these  melancholy  feelings, 
mother,"  answered  Gerald.  "  I  shall  not  be  very  long  absent ; 
the  probability  is,  that  I  shall  sec  you  again,  sooner  than  if  I 
were  going  to  remain  in  London.  You  are  much  improved  in 
health  since  you  have  resided  at  Abbottsford,  and  when  I  return 
to  England,  I  hope  to  find  your  health  completly  restored." 

Gerald  had  never  opened  this  book  from  the  day  he  left 
England  until  now,  and  as  he  read  the  lines  and  recalled  the 
conversation  to  which  they  had  given  rise,  his  heart  smote  him 
for  the  disregard  he  had  paid  to  his  mother's  entreaties  to  re 
turn  to  England  as  soon  as  possible.  He  thought  of  the  unkind 
letter  he  had  written  from  Calcutta,  and  again  he  seemed  to 
hear  his  Uncle  Ashley's  warning  voice  saying,  "  Gerald,  you 
will  one  day  deeply  sorrow  for  having  allowed  your  indigna 
tion  to  fall  upon  your  mother." 

Instead  of  reading  the  volume,  a  strange  fascination,  that  he 
could  not  withstand,  fixed  his  gaze  upon  these  lines,  traced  by 
his  mother's  hand. 

How  long  he  sat  in  this  position,  he  declared,  subsequently, 
that  he  did  not  know  :  hours  must  have  passed,  although  they 
seemed  but  minutes.  He  was  still  gazing  upon  the  page,  when 
the  lines  grew  indistinct,  as  if  some  shadow  had  passed  over 
them.  The  fascination  that  had  fixed  his  gaze  was  gone,  and 
raising  his  head,  he  endeavored  to  discover  the  cause  of  the 
shadow  which  had  suddenly  obscured  the  page.  Before  him 
was  a  thin  yet  palpable  mist,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  fancied 
he  could  discern  the  shadowy  outline  of  a  human  form.  He 
was  again  fascinated,  and  was  unable  to  withdraw  his  gaze ;  the 
mist  slowly  dissolved,  and  the  figure  grew  more  distinct.  Soon 
he  could  plainly  distinguish  the  form  of  his  mother,  clad  in  a 
plain  white  robe,  that  might  have  been  a  shroud,  and  then  the 
features  became  visible,  at  first  shadowy  and  indistinct,  then 
more  and  more  clearly  defined,  until  the  mist  had  entirely  dis 
appeared,  and  his  mother's  figure  stood  erect  before  him,  one 
hand  pointing  upwards,  the  other  with  the  fore  finger  out- 


VISIONS   AND   DREAMS.  281 

stretched,  pointing  to  the  open  -page  of  the  volume  upon  his 
knee.  The  features  were  those  of  his  mother  as  he  had  last 
seen  her,  but  the  face  was  pale  and  death-like,  and  the  ex 
pression  of  the  countenance  was  sad  and  sorrowful,  yet  beaming 
with  love  and  pity.  Soon  as  he  gazed,  essaying  to  speak,  yet 
unable  to  give  utterance  to  a  word — the  expression  of  the 
countenance  changed  to  one  of  thankfulness  and  gratitude — a 
sweet,  gentle  smile,  lighted  up  the  pale  face,  and  he  heard  his 
mothei's  well-remembered  voice,  saying,  as  her  finger  still 
pointed  to  the  page — "  Remember,  Gerald,  remember  !"  and 
in  a  moment  the  figure  vanished  from  his  sight. 

He  started  like  one  awaking  from  a  frightful  dream.  It  was 
not  long  past  midnight,  when  he  had  seated  himself  in  the 
cabin,  but  the  faint  glimmer  of  day  was  beaming  in  through  the 
skylight,  and  the  solitary  lamp,  by  the  light  of  which  he  had 
intended  to  read,  was  flickering  feebly-  in  the  socket.  His 
brow  was  bathed  in  a  cold,  clammy  sweat,  and  his  frame  shud 
dered  with  cold.  He  could  hear  the  deep  breathing  of  the 
other  occupants  of  the  wardroom, — all  were  yet  sleeping 
soundly.  At  first,  he  thought  he  had  been  sleeping  and 
dreaming  himself,  but  still  he  sat  upright,  with  the  chest-lid 
open  before  him,  and  the  open  volume  lying  upon  his  knee,  in 
exactly  the  same  position  in  which  he  had  placed  it  hours 
before.  Had  he  stirred  a  single  inch,  it  must  have  fallen  to 
the  floor ;  besides,  the  impression  left  of  his  mother's  figure 
and  features,  and  the  sound  of  her  warning  voice,  and  the 
gentle  smile  which  had  succeeded  the  first  mournful  gaze  was 
all  too  vivid  to  have  been  effected  by  a  dream.  For  some 
moments  he  still  felt  the  spell  upon  him  ;  then  he  rose,  placed 
the  book  in  the  chest,  closed  the  lid,  extinguished  the  last  faint 
glimmer  of  the  flickering  lamp,  and  threw  himself,  dressed  as 
he  was,  into  his  hammock.  A  strange  sense  of  weariness  op 
pressed  him,  and  he  was  soon  asleep.  Then  he  dreamed  in 
deed.  He  was  home  again,  in  Abbottsford  ;  he  had  alighted 
from  the  stage,  at  the  corner  of  the  lane,  which  led  to  the  vil- 


282  THE    WANDERER. 

lage  from  the  high  road,  and  with  a  joyous  heart  trudged  gaily 
on,  intending  to  give  his  mother  a  happy  surprise,  for  she  knew 
not  of  his  coming.  And  now  the  village  was  in  sight ;  he  could 
see  the  turret  of  the  little  village  church  peeping  over  the  horse- 
chestnut  trees,  which  surrounded  and  shaded  the  sacred  struc 
ture.  The  birds  were  chirping  sweetly  amidst  the  budding 
foliage  of  the  trees  and  hedges,  for  it  was  the  season  of  early 
spring,  when  nature  puts  forth  her  gayest  garments.  ,  Suddenly 
the  deep  toll  of  the  church-bell  struck  solemnly  upon  his  ear ; 
his  gaiety  and  joyousness  had  fled.  He  hurried  on,  until  he 
met  with  a  villager — one  whose  features  he  seemed  to  recol 
lect,  and  yet  whose  name  he  could  not  recall.  With  the  strange 
inconsistency  of  a  dream  the  figure  and  features  seemed  to  be 
those  of  Mr.  Pearce — then  of  Jemmy  Milton — then  of  his  uncle 
Ashley.  Again  the  bell  tolled  mournfully,  and  approaching 
the  village,  he  asked  the  cause  of  this  death-peal. 

"Mrs.  Dalton  died  last  night,"  replied  the  person  addressed. 

A  faint  sickness  came  over  the  young  man,  and  he  felt  as  if 
he  would  have  fallen  to  the  earth ;  but  recovering  himself,  he 
turned  to  ask  further  questions — the  stranger  had  vanished. 

Again  the  scene  changed  ;  he  was  still  at  Abbottsford,  but 
the  beautiful  spring  morning  had  passed  away,  and  the  wind 
blew  keen  and  chill,  whistling  dolefully  through  the  young 
leaves  on  the  trees,  a  fitting  accompaniment  to  the  mournful 
sound  of  the  church  bell  which  was  still  tolling.  The  sky  above 
was  gloomy  and  lowering,  and  people  passed  by  him  hurriedly, 
their  eyes  cast  sadly  upon  the  ground.  All  were  hastening  in 
one  direction,  and  in  that  direction  he  turned  his  steps.  It  led 
him  into  the  church-yard,  and  just  as  he  entered  the  gate,  a 
mournful  procession  was  leaving  the  church.  A  coffin  covered 
with  a  pall,  and  preceded  by  a  clergyman  in  his  black  gown, 
was  carried  between  four  bearers,  the  pall  supported  by  school 
children.  Two  and  two  together,  several  adults,  male  and 
female,  clad  in  sombre  garments,  followed  immediately  behind  ; 
and  then,  also,  two  and  two  together,  followed  the  children  of 


VISIONS   AND   DREAMS.  283 

the  neighboring  parish  school,  clad  in  white  garments,  with 
black  sashes  round  their  waists.  Some  were  weeping ;  all 
wore  a  look  of  sadness  as  they  slowly  passed  on  towards  an 
open  grave  at  some  short  distance  from  the  church,  and  situ 
ated  deep  in  the  shadow  of  the  chestnut  grove.  The  clergyman 
halted  at  the  head  of  the  grave,  and  read  the  burial  service, 
and  anon  the  voices  of  the  children  who  stood  around  burst 
forth  in  a  mournful  chant.  Then  the  coffin  was  lowered  into 
the  grave.  He  heard  the  hollow  rattle  of  the  earth  as  it  was 
cast  upon  the  coffin  by  the  grave-digger,  and  the  solemn  tone 
of  the  clergyman's  voice  as  he  repeated  the  words  : — 

"Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust." 

He  had  stood  spell  bound  during  the  ceremony  ;  when  all  was 
over,  he  found  words  to  speak,  and  turned  to  ask  a  question 
of  some  one  of  the  mourners,  but  all  had  vanished  except  the 
sexton.  He  stood  alone  with  him. 

"  Whose  funeral  is  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Where  have  you  come  from  that  you  do  not  know  V  was 
the  reply.  "  'Tis  Mrs.  Dalton's,  the  village  schoolmistress's. 
Ah !  poor  thing,  she  was  a  good  body,  and  sorely  she  sor 
rowed  that  her  son  was  not  by  her  to  close  her  dying  eyes." 

"  I  am  Gerald  Dalton  !"  he  replied,  and  the  man  seized  him 
firmly  by  the  shoulder.  He  struggled  to  extricate  himself,  and 
awoke  to  find  Frederick  Ashley  standing  by  the  side  of  his 
hammock,  shaking  him  roughly. 

"Are  you  going  to  lie  in  your  hammock  all  day  long  ?"  he 
cried.  "  It's  nearly  seven  bells.  Breakfast  will  be  ready 
directly,  and  hammocks  have  been  piped  up  long  ago.  Come, 
rouse  up.  We  have  arranged  a  party  to  go  and  see  a  tiger 
hunt ;  the  brutes  have  swam  over  from  the  main  land,  and 
have  been  playing  the  d — 1  with  the  Chinese  laborers  on  the 
plantations ;  the  merchants  have  collected  a  lot  01"  coolies,  and 
are  going  to  turn  out  en  masse  for  the  hunt.  Come,  make 
haste,  or  you  will  be  too  late." 


284  THE   WANDERER. 

Gerald  sprang  from  his  hammock,  performed  his  ablutions, 
changed  his  clothes,  and  sat  down  to  the  breakfast-table,  but  he 
was  unable  to  eat  a  mouthful. 

"  Why,  Gerald,  what  ails  you  this  morning  1"  asked  Fred 
erick.  "  You  look  as  pale  as  the  ghost  in  Hamlet,  and  only 
last  night  you  were  boasting  of  being  so  well." 

"  I  am  not  sick,"  replied  Gerald,  "  but  I  have  no  appetite 
this  morning,  and  don't  care  for  any  breakfast." 

"  The  very  way  to  get  sick  in  this  climate,  not  to  eat  in  the 
morning,"  said  Frederick,  helping  himself  to  another  roll. 
"  But  you'll  soon  have  an  appetite  if  you  join  the  hunt  to-day. 
We  are  going  to  take  provisions  with  us." 

"  I  must  beg  to  be  excused  from  joining  you,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Pooh  !  What  nonsense.  You've  got  into  your  old  tan 
trums  again,  I  see.  Come,  I'm  your  medical  adviser,  and  I 
insist  upon  your  joining  us  for  the  benefit  of  your  health.  We 
go  to-day  up  to  Mr.  Morley's  plantations,  and  wait  there  till 
night-fall,  when  the  tigers  come  out  of  the  jungle,  and  then  we 
shall  set  out  in  chase.  We  shall  have  a  grand  and  exciting 
time  of  it." 

Again  Gerald  begged  to  be  excused,  and  his  cousin,  noticing 
his  agitation,  forbore  to  press  him  further  ;  but  after  breakfast, 
when  the  party  had  gone  on  deck,  he  stepped  up  to  him  and 
kindly  inquired  what  ailed  him.  Gerald  for  some  time  refused 
to  explain,  but  at  length  he  yielded  to  his  cousin's  pressing 
questions,  and  relating  the  singular  waking  vision  of  the  previ 
ous  night,  and  the  subsequent  equally  singular  dreams. 

41  Nonsense,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Frederick,  "  waking  vi 
sions,  indeed  !  that  was  a  dream  as  well  as  the  others.  You 
are  allowing  yourself  to  become  the  victim  of  a  morbid  imagin 
ation,  Gerald,  and  you  must  shake  off  these  fancies,  or  you  will 
become  a  confirmed  hypochondriac." 

"  It  could  not  have  been  a  dream,"  said  Gerald,  "  the  im 
pression  it  left  left  was  too  vivid,  it  was  not  like  those  other 
dreams  which  followed;  besides  I  could  not  have  slept  for 


FOREBODINGS.  285 

hours  with  an  open  volume  lying  on  my  knee  and  myself  sit 
ting  upright,  without  any  support,  on  a  camp-stool.  The 
thing's  "impossible." 

"  Not  at  all  impossible,"  said  Frederick,  "  we  can  sleep  in 
strange  attitudes  sometimes.  Why,  I've  slept  on  horseback 
while  out  hunting  in  Ceylon,  before  now,  and  held  the  reins 
and  guided  the  horse  as  cleverly  as  if  I  had  been  broad  awake." 

"  What  is  the  day  of  the  month  f  asked  Gerald. 

"The  18th  of  April,"  replied  Frederick. 

"  And  at  what  hour  does  the  daylight  begin  to  appear  in  the 
morning  ?" 

"  About  six  o'clock." 

"I  shall  note  the  day  of  the  month  down,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  am 
certain  that  I  saw  something  more  than  a  mere  dream  last 
night." 

"  Well,  I  see  you  won't  be  convinced,  and  an  obstinate  man 
— and  you  are  a  deuced  obstinate  chap,  you  know,  Gerald — 
must  have  his  own  way,  as  the  old  adage  says.  After  all, 
Hamlet  was  right  when  he  said  "  There  is  more  in  Heaven 
and  Earth,  Horatio,  than  e'er  was  dreamed  of  in  our  philoso 
phy,"  but  you  are  fretting  now  about  letters  from  England 
when  you  know  it  is  only  about  four  months  since  you  wrote 
to  your  mother  from  Colombo,  and  she  can  scarcely  have  done 
more  than  received  the  letter  yet,  certainly  there  has  not  been 
time  for  you  to  receive  a  reply  to  it." 

"  No,  but  still  I  cannot  help  this  strange  foreboding  that  has 
come  across  my  mind." 

"  And  which  is  the  cause  of  nightmares  and  frightful  dreams, 
and  indigestion,  and  loss  of  appetite,  and  evils  of  all  sorts. 
Come,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  observing  Gerald's  irresolu 
tion,  "  you  must  join  us  to-day.  The  exercise  and  excitement 
will  shake  off  these  gloomy  fancies,"  and  Gerald  at  'length  suf 
fered  himself  to  be  persuaded,  and  promised  to  join  the  party. 


286  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"Which  announces  the  death  of  Deacon  Milton,  and  tells  how  Jemmy  Milton 
came  into  possession  of  a  "  fortune."  How  he  was  sought  after  in  mar 
riage  by  antiquated  spinsters  and  disconsolate  widdys.  How  all  was  in 
vain,  and  how  Jemmy  made  his  will  and  smoked  his  pipe  in  peace  in  the 
boat-house. 

MATTERS  of  trifling  moment  to  the  world,  agitate  a  small 
community.  If  Herrington  had  been  swallowed  up  by  an  earth 
quake,  or  what  would  have  been  more  probable,  had  that 
insignificant  little  seaport  been  swallowed  up  by  the  ever-en 
croaching  sea,  and  forever  blotted  out  from  the  world,  the  map 
of  Europe  would  have  needed  no  modification,  and  even  the 
map  of  the  small  island  of  Great  Britain  would  have  required 
little  perceptible  alteration,  and  yet,  during  the  brief  period  in 
the  course  of  this  narrative  that  has  been  occupied  in  the  de 
scription  of  events  that  occurred  in  distant  localities,  a  circum 
stance  had  occurred  in  Herrington  which  had  very  much 
excited  the  little  community  and  had  been  food  for  the  gossips 
and  a  matter  of  grave  speculation  to  the  sages  and  of  the  town. 
Deacon  Milton,  its  wealthiest,  and  one  of  its  oldest  inhabitants, 
had  died,  full  of  years  and  honors,  "  deeply  lamented  by  all 
the  residents  of  the  borough  of  which  he  had  so  long  been  a 
prominent  and  influential  member,"  so  said  the  minister  of 
Zion  chapel,  who  filled  the  post,  once  occupied  by  Mr.  Ashley, 
when  he  preached  the  funeral  sermon  on  the  following  sabbath. 

"  So  old  Thomas  Milton  has  dropped  off  at  last ;  well,  he  was 
a  close  fisted  old  fellow  ;  but  it  seems  as  if  one  of  the  props 
of  the  town  had  fallen,  we  have  been  so  used  to  see  him  taking 


DEATH    OF    THE    DEACON.  287 

his  walk  as  regular  as  clock-work,  from  his  house  to  the  Town- 
Hall.  He  was  a  man  of  substance.  I  wonder  who'll  get  the  old 
fellow's  money;  not  that  ne'er-do-well  brother  of  his,  surety," 
said  the  majority  of  the  towns-people  who  had  no  particular 
interest  in  the  chapel  of  which  he  had  been  the  wealthiest 
member,  and,  "so  old  deacon  Milton's  gone,  I  wonder  who'll 
get  his  money  ;  he  must  have  left  a  pretty  penny  behind  him  ;" 
echoed  a  hundred  gossips,  over  the  tea-table,  the  day  that  the 
tidings  had  gone  forth  that  old  Deacon  Milton  was  no  more. 

Jemmy  Milton,  the  old  sailor  and  fisherman  was,  so  far  as 
was  known,  his  only  living  relative,  consequently,  the  only  per 
son  who  had  any  natural  claim  to  his  late  brother's  wealth  ;  but, 
few  persons  thought  that  the  deacon  had  left  his  property  un 
restrictedly  to  his  brother.  There  had  never  existed  any 
fraternity  of  feeling  between  them,  and  beyond  an  ordinary 
recognition,  a  nod  of  the  head,  and  a  brief  good-day  when  they 
met,  they  had  held  no  intercourse  with  each  other,  excepting 
on  the  occasions  when  Jemmy  went  to  the  deacon's  house, 
four  times  a  year,  to  receive  his  quarterly  dole  of  salary.  The 
leading  members  of  the  chapel  thought  a  large  portion  of  his 
money  would  be  found  to  be  left  to  the  chapel,  some  of  them 
thought  that  they  might  themselves  come  in  for  an  individual 
share — as  a  token  of  the  long  friendship  that  had  existed 
between  them  and  the  deceased.  Others  believed  it  not 
unlikely,  now  that  the  deacon  could  no  longer  enjoy  the  con 
templation  of  the  wealth  he  was  too  niggardly  to  spend,  even 
for  his  own  comfort  and  gratification,  that  he  had  bequeathed 
at  least  some  portion  of  it  to  the  public  charities  of  the  town, 
or  to  the  poor  among  the  congregation  of  his  own  chapel,  or, 
perchance,  to  the  endowment  of  some  beneficent  institution 
that  might  be  a  lasting  monument  to  his  memory — these  were 
the  charitably  inclined ;  others  said  that  the  ghost  of  the  de 
ceased  deacon  would  haunt  the  town  if  the  money  were  thus 
scattered  that  he  had  amassed  with  so  much  pains  and  hoarded 
with  so  much  care,  and  hinted  that  it  would  be  discovered, 


288  THE   WANDERER. 

when  his  will  came  to  be  examined,  that  he  had  devised  some 
scheme  to  carry  his  treasure  with  him  to  the  tomb,  or,  at  least, 
had  given  directions  that  it  should  be  expended  in  the  erection 
of  a  splendid  monument  over  his  grave.  These  were  the  de 
cidedly  uncharitable. 

All  these  calculations,  however,  were  doomed  to  disappoint 
ment.  It  was  soon  known  that  the  vicar  of  the  parish,  with 
whom  the  deacon  had  never  been  on  terms  of  close  intimacy, 
was  the  executor  of  the  deceased,  and  that  Jemmy  Milton  was 
the  sole  legatee.  With  the  exception  of  Dr.  Knight's  fee  for  his 
medical  services,  calculated  to  the  utmost  degree  of  nicety,  for 
the  deacon  had  preserved  his  faculties  unimpaired  until  a  few 
hours  before  his  death,  and  had  only  probably  sent  for  the 
vicar  the  day  before  it  occurred,  and  five  pounds  bequeathed 
to  the  vicar,  for  the  purchase  of  a  new  gown,  as  some  compen 
sation  for  his  trouble  in  accepting  the  office  of  executor — all 
the  property  was  bequeathed,  without  restriction,  to  his  brother, 
and  thus  Jemmy  Milton  found  himself  in  the  unexpected 
possession  often  thousand  pounds  sterling — a  mint  of  wealth 
in  the  eyes  of  the  good  people  of  Herrington. 

Much  and  grievous  disappointment  was  felt  at  this  natural 
and  just  disposal  of  his  property  by  the  deacon,  and  no  little  in 
dignation  was  openly  expressed  by  those  who  had  hoped  to 
profit  by  the  death  of  the  deceased  miser,  whose  memory  was 
now  most  sorely  traduced  by  those  who  had  most  fawned  upon 
him,  while  living. 

The  matter,  however,  after  having  been  the  main  topic  of 
conversation  and  the  chief  source  of  gossip  for  a  season,  passed 
at  length  into  oblivion,  and  with  it,  the  deacon  himself,  who, 
living  as  he  had  lived  in  Herrington,  had  left  no  real  friend  to 
mourn  his  loss — no  widow  or  orphan  to  bless  and  revere  his 
memory. 

This  sudden  accession  to  wealth  was  the  source  of  great 
trouble  to  Jemmy  Milton.  The  deacon's  property  was  nearly 
all  in  ready  money.  He  had  amassed  his  fortune,  in  the  first 


JEMMY    VISITS   LONDON.  289 

instance,  by  smuggling,  in  which  nefarious  profession  he  had 
been  very  successful  in  early  life,  and  he  had,  subsequently, 
increased  it  by  lending  out  small  sums  at  usurious  interest  to 
the  needy  among  the  townspeople  and  the  farmers  in  the 
vicinity ;  but,  in  his  later  years,  he  had  grown  so  cautious  and 
so  fond  of  retaining  his  money  in  his  own  possession,  that  he 
had  called  in  his  loans,  and  deposited  the  money  in  an  iron 
safe,  set  into  the  wall  in  the  bedroom  in  which  he  slept,  the 
key  of  which  was  tied  to  a  string  worn  round  his  neck.  No 
one  in  the  town,  however,  was  aware  of  this,  he  had  managed 
his  affairs  with  so  much  secrecy  ;  and,  although  it  was  known 
that  he  had  withdrawn  his  money  from  the  Herrington  bank, 
he  had  managed  to  cause  it  to  be  generally  believed  that  he 
had  deposited  it,  for  greater  security,  in  a  bank  in  London. 
To  London  the  money  had  been  transmitted,  by  the  advice  of 
the  vicar,  shortly  after  the  deacon's  death,  and,  after  the  funeral 
had  taken  place,  Jemmy,  clad  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  in 
a  new  suit  of  black  broadcloth,  had  gone  himself  up  to  London 
as  he  said,  to  look  about  him  a  bit,  and  traverse  his  old  cruis 
ing  ground,  Ratcliffe  Highway  and  Wapping,  and  work  off  the 
melancholy,  for  the  old  deacon,  though  his  brother  had  never  en 
couraged  any  fraternal  feeling,  had  been  his  brother  still,  and  he 
was  now,  as  he  said,  an  old  hulk,  left  quite  alone  in  the  world. 

However,  Jemmy  soon  returned  from  London  and  took  up 
his  quarters  at  his  former  lodgings,  the  cottage  of  a  middle 
aged  widow  left  with  a  large  family  of  children,  her  husband 
having  been  drowned  at  sea  two  or  three  years  before  the  dea 
con's  decease.  Jemmy  had  lived  with  the  family,  the  widow's 
husband  having  been  an  old  shipmate  of  his,  for  several  years, 
and  after  the  husband's  death  he  had  still  continued  to  reside 
with  the  widow. 

Immediately  upon  his  return  from  London  he  had  doffed  his 

mourning  suit,  merely  reserving  the  crape  around  his  hat,  and 

had  resumed   his  old,   seaman's  garb,  for,  as  he  said,  in  that 

"  long  toggery,"  he  felt  like  a  craft  whose  backstays  had  been  set 

13 


290  THE    WANDERER. 

up  too  taut,  and  that  consequently  jerked  terrible  hard  in  steering. 

A  few  days  after  his  return  to  Herrington  he  called  upon 
Mr.  Pearce,  at  the  vicarage.  At  the  vicar's  request  he  was 
shown  by  the  servant  who  admitted  him,  into  the  study. 

"  Ha !  Mr.  Milton,"  said  the  vicar,  "  how  are  you  to-day  1 
I  thought  you  were  in  London.  I  had  no  idea  that  you  would 
return  so  soon.  But  take  a  seat,  my  old  friend,  take  a  seat," 
and  he  handed  a  chair  to  his  visitor. 

"  Thank'ee  sir,"  replied  Jemmy  taking  the  proffered  seat, 
"  I  am  quite  well,  and  I  hope  you  are  the  same.  I  came  back 
from  Lunnun  near  a  week  ago.  Couldn't  find  any  pleasure 
there,  sir,  Wapping  and  Ratcliffe  highway  ain't  what  they 
used  to  be,  but  I  beg  pardon,  sir.  You'll  excuse  this  'ere  tog 
gery  as  I've  got  on,  but  I  could'nt  stand  that  'ere  swaller-tail 
any  longer.  I  was  like  as  if  I  was  in  the  bilboes,  when  I  wore 
it.  Mayhap  I  should  have  enjoyed  myself  better  in  Lunnun 
if  I'd  ha'  gone  up  there  in  Christian-like  toggery,  axing  your 
pardon  for  speakin'  so  bold." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  Mr.  Milton,"  said  the  vicar,  "every 
one  has  a  perfect  right  to  dress  as  he  pleases,  and  it  is  only 
natural  that  you  should  feel  most  at  ease  in  the  attire  to  which 
you  have  been  accustomed  all  your  life." 

"  I  should  like,  Mr.  Pearce,"  said  the  old  man,  "  that  you'd 
call  me  Jemmy.  It's  the  name  as  I've  been  used  to,  and  like 
the  old  duds,  it  seems  to  fit  me  best.  I  hardly  know  who  the 
folks  mean  when  they  'dresses  me  as  Mr.  Milton." 

"Jemmy,  then,  if  you  please,"  said  the  vicar,  "although  I 
believe  I  have  generally  addressed  you  as  Mr.  Milton." 

"  To  be  sure,  sir,  you  have,  and  I  didn't  mind  it  from  you  in 
old  times,  seeing  as  you  was  the  reverend.  But  every  one  calls 
me  so  now.  It's  Mister  Milton  here,  and  Mister  Milton  there, 
till  I'm  well  a  nigh  crazed.  But  I've  taken  the  liberty  of  callin' 
to  ask  some  advice  of  you,  sir." 

"  What  is  it,  Jemmy,  since  so  I  must  designate  you  ?"  said 
the  vicar.     "  I  shall  be  happy,  I'm  sure,  to  afford  you  any  ad 
vice  to  the  best  of  my  ability." 


THE    VICAR'S   ADVICE.  291 

"  It's  about  this  here  money  that  my  brother  left  me,  sir," 
said  Jemmy,  "  it's  a  great  trouble  to  me,  sir." 

"  It  is  a  talent  entrusted  to  your  care  which  it  is  your  duty 
to  put  out  at  interest,"  replied  the  vicar. 

"  That's  what  ever  body  tells  me,"  said  Jemmy.  "  Mister 
Milton,"  says  they,  "  You  should  put  that  there  money  out  to 
good  interest,  and  one  advises  this,  and  t'other  that,  till  I'm 
a'most  crazed.  Lor'  bless  you,  sir,  axin'  your  pardon,  there's 
more  than  I  can  spend,  without  puttin'  it  out  to  interest,  if  I 
was  to  live  to  be  as  old  again  as  I  am  now." 

"  You  mistake  me,  my  friend,"  smilingly  replied  the  vicar. 
"Although  the  advice  given  is  still  good  in  a  worldly  point  of 
view.  When  I  spoke  of  putting  the  talent  entrusted  to  your 
care  out  at  interest,  I  meant  that  it  was  your  duty  so  to  use 
it,  as  to  benefit  your  less  fortunate  fellow  creatures,  and  so 
obtain  hereafter  the  reward  that  is  promised  to  those  who  as 
sist  the  sick  and  needy  for  the  love  they  bear  to  him  who  gave 
them  their  abundance." 

"  You  talk  reasonable,  sir,  in  that,  but  it  puts  me  out  of  pa 
tience  to  hear  folks  tellin'  on  me,  to  make  the  most  of  my 
money,  as  if  money  was  every  thing  to  an  old  man  like  me, 
who  has  lived  on  fifty  pounds  a  year  and  thought  it  wealth. 
Besides  Jemmy  Milton  ain't  such  a  fool  as  not  to  see,  as  these 
folks  has  their  own  ends  to  sarve." 

"  What  have  you  thought  of  doing,  Jemmy  ?  How  have 
you  concluded  to  dispose  of  your  recently  acquired  wealth  T' 
asked  the  vicar. 

"  Why,  sir,  I'm  an  old  man,  and  can't  reasonably  expect 
my  worn  out  timbers  to  hang  together  many  years  longer.  I 
can't  think  of  changing  my  mode  of  living,  for  I  shouldn't  be 
happy  any  other  way.  I  have  been  thinking,  sir,  1  ought  to 
make  a  will." 

"And  a  very  good  thought  too,  Jemmy,"  said  the  vicar. 
"  By-the-by,  what  is  your  age  1" 

"  Does  your  reverence  know  what  age  they  put  on  my  bro 
ther's  coffm  T'  asked  Jemmy. 


292  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Seventy-two  years  and  nine  months,  T  believe,"  replied  the 
vicar. 

"  Well  then,  I've  always  heerd  that  I  was  four  years  younger 
than  Turmnas.  That  makes  me  to  be — — " 

"  Sixty-eight  years  old,"  said  the  vicar. 

"  'Xactly,  sir ;  very  good.  Now  a  man  as  has  seed  hard 
ships,  and  is  sixty-eight  years  old,  can't  expect  to  live  many 
years  longer.  I  feels  old  age  a  creepin'  over  me  now.  The 
rheaumatis'  troubles  o'  nights,  and  I  feels  aches  and  pains  in 
my  limbs,  specially  in  the  great  toe  as  got  frost-bit,  and  was 
amputated  when  I  was  on  board  a  North  Sea  whaler  twenty- 
five  years  ago.  That  ere  great  toe  troubles  me  terrible,  sir." 

"  I  hope  you'll  live  to  see  many  more  years  yet,  Jemmy," 
said  the  vicar,  smiling  at  the  old  man's  singular  conceit. 
*  You're  a  hale,  hearty  man  for  one  of  your  years ;  still,  it  is 
a  prudent  thought  of  yours  to  make  your  will  while  in  sound 
health  of  body  and  mind.  When  do  you  think  of  setting  about 
if?  I  shall  be  happy  to  afford  you  any  assistance  you  may 
require." 

"  There's  a  many  as  advises  me  agin  it,  sir,"  continued 
Jemmy.  "They  says  that  when  a  man  makes  his  will,  it's  a 
sure  sign  as  he's  a  goin'  to  slip  off  the  hooks ;  'specially  the 
widdies  and  old  maids  goes  agin  it.  I  was  a  talkin'  about  it 
over  at  my  lodgings  the  night  arter  I  come  from  Lunnun,  and 
Peggy  Nelson,  she  as  I  boards  with,  had  axed  six  or  seven 
wTomen-folk  of  her  acquaintance,  to  tea  to  meet  me  and  welcome 
me  home  agin,  as  she  said.  After  tea,  they  all  begins  to  pitch 
into  me  about  my  money,  and  to  'gratulate  me,  as  they 
says,  on  comin'  into  the  deacon's  fortun'.  Savs  I,  '  yes,  it's  a 
great  sight  of  money  for  an  old  man  to  fall  alongside  of,  and 
I'm  thinking  as  I  ought  to  make  a  will.' 

"  '  Lauks,'  says  they,  all  at  a  time,  '  I  hope  you'll  remember 
your  old  friends  then,  Mister  Milton  V  And  then,  says  one, 
'To  think  of  Mister  Milton  a  calling  of  hisself  an  old  man, 
Peggy,  when  I  warrant  me  there's  many  a  young  'ooman  as  'ud 


JEMMY    ON    MATRIMONY.  293 

be  glad  to  set  up  her  cap  at  him  sooner  than  at  half  the  men 
as  calls  theirselves  young,  let  alone  the  widdies,'  says  she ; 
and  then  chimes  in  another,  '  For  my  part,  I  never  fancy  a 
man  when  he's  too  young.'  She  was  an  old  maid,  precious 
near  as  aid  as  I  be,  and  she  says,  *  I  allers  turned  my  face  agin  , 
very  young  men,  and  I've  had  a  many  offers.  No,  no,  give  me 
a  sober,  steady  man,  in  the  prime  of  life' — squintin'  awful  at 
me — 'one  as  has  got  over  the  follies  of  youth,  and  as  is  a  good 
purvider.' 

"  After  they  wor  all  gone,  Peggy  Nelson  fetched  out  a  bottle 
of  holland's,  and  brewed  a  couple  of  glasses  of  hot  toddy,  and, 
says  she,  '•Mister  Milton' — she  always  called  me  Jemmy  afore, 
and  I  knowed  as  how  summut  was  commin' — '•Mister  Milton,' 
say  s  she,  '  them  folks  as  is  gone  talks  a  good  deal  of  non 
sense;  but,  Lor'  bless  ye,  they  means  nought.  Still,'  says 
she,  sittin'  up  closer  alongside  of  me,  "  there  be  some  truth  in 
what  they  says.  You're  a  man  of  substance  now,'  says  she, 
*  and  you'll  find  the  need  of  somebody  to  nuss  you,  and  take 
care  on  ye,  and  make  you  comfortable,  though  I  don't  say  any 
thing  agin  my  neighbors,  but  I  can't  say  as  I  think  any  of  them 
would  be  the  woman  as  'ud  make  you  a  good  wife ;'  and  then 
she  sipped  her  toddy,  and  axed  me  if  mine  was  sweet  enough, 
and  pressed  me  to  drink  it  up  and  have  some  more ;  and  when 
she'd  mixed  me  the  second  glass,  she  sits  for  some  time  silent, 
squintin'  at  me  now  and  then,  and  a  droppin'  of  her  eyes  when 
I  chanced  to  look  at  her,  like  a  young  gal  of  sixteen.  At  last, 
she  says: 

"  '  It  was  terr'bl  dull  when  you  was  up  there  at  Lunnun,  Mr 
Milton.' 

"  *  I  wish,  Peggy,  you'd  call  me  Jemmy,  as  is  my  nat'ral 
name,'  says  I. 

"  '  It's  the  name  I  love  to  call  you  by,'  says  she,  '  but  I 
thought,  now  you'd  come  into  a  fortun',  as  it  would  be  disre- 
spectful-like ;  but  since  you  wishes  it,  I  will  call  you  Jemrny. 
It  was  IcrSbV  dull  when  you  was  up  at  Lunnun,  Jemmy,'  she 
s.  a  winkin  at  me  agin. 


294  THE    "WANDERER. 

" '  I  found  it  dull,'  I  says  ;  '  I  was  main  glad  to  get  home 
agin,  Peggy.' 

"  '  No  !  Was  you,  now?'  says  she.  '  Well,  and  it's  aston- 
ishin7  how  the  children  took  on  after  ye.  '  When'll  feyther 
come  back,  mammy1?'  says  little  Molly.  And,  'I  shall  be  so 
glad  to  see  feyther  agin,'  says  Bobby.  You  know  they  all  call 
you  feyther,  Jemmy  V — a  winkin' at  me  agin — 'for  you  was 
always  so  good  to  them;  just  as  kind  as  their  own  poor 
feyther,'  and  Peggy  put  her  apron  to  her  eyes  and  begun  to 
rub  'em  till  they  got  as  red  as  if  she'd  a  been  peelin'  ingyens ; 
but  she  soon  put  it  down  agin,  and  goes  on ;  '  you  was  always 
a  bringin'  on  'em  apples  and  shrimps  and  perrywinkles,'  says 
she ;  '  and  your  face  was  always  so  smiling  and  good-natured, 
that  you  reminded  me  of  my  own  good  man  that's  dead  and 
buried  in  his  salt  sea  grave,'  and  up  went  the  apron  agin.  *  He 
was  a  good  man,'  says  she,  '  and  please  God,  while  he  lived, 
I  made  him  a  good  wife,  and  we  had  a  large  and  interestin' 
family  of  children.  Ah !  Jemmy  Milton,  it  ain't  till  a  body's 
been  married  and  is  left  a  disconsolate  widdy,  that  they  feels 
what  was  the  happiness  of  a  married  life,'  and  she  began  a 
winkin'  at  me  worser  than  ever. 

"  Howsomever,  I  said  nought  that  night,  and  when  I  refused  . 
to  have  any  more  toddy,  she  got  up  and  bid  me  good  night, 
as  affectionate  like,  as  if  I  was  a  goin'  to  be  drownded  myself 
the  next  day. 

"  When  I  got  to  my  own  room  and  turned  in,  I  says  to  my 
self,  '  Jemmy  Milton,'  says  I,  '  there's  materomony  in  this 
here  drift  of  wind  ;  them  old  maids  and  disconsolate  widdys 
didn't  come  to  tea  last  night  without  some  reason  of  their  own ; 
and  Peggy  Nelson  wasn't  a  talkin'  about  the  children,  and  of 
my  bein'  like  a  feyther  to  'em  and  a  winkin'  at  me,  and  a  \vipin' 
her  eyes  with  her  apron,  for  nought.  Now,  Jemmy,  don't  you 
be  a  driftin'  into  materomony  at  your  age,  like  a  ship  'ithout 
a  pilot,  that's  lost  her  steerage-way,  after  having  lived  true  to 
poor  Jane's  memory  so  long.'  And  then  I  began  to  think  as 


THE    OLD    MAN'S    WILL.  295 

it  was  terr'ble  lonesome-like  lying  in  bed  alone,  and-  how  I'd 
read  in  the  bible,  that  David,  when  he  got  old,  got  a  young 
wife  to  keep  him  warm,  and  take  care  on  him  ;  and  thinks  I,  I'll 
call  on  the  vicar  in  the  morning  and  ax  him,  and  take  his  advice 
on  the  subject,  but  I  felt  too  bashful-like,  and  I  put  off  calling ; 
but  the  next  day  and  the  next,  I  had  to  submit  to  the  same 
persecution,  'till  I  got  fidgetty,  and  to  think  that  a  wife  wouldn't 
be  such  a  bad  thing,  after  all,  and  Peggy's  a  good-looking  woman 
for  her  years,  and  made  a  good  wife  to  Jack  Nelson,  so  at  last 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  ask  your  reverence's  advice  about  ma- 
teromony  and  the  makin'  on  a  wJl." 

The  vicar  had  listened  patiently  to  Jemmy's  long  story  with 
out  speaking  a  word,  though  he  occasionally  smiled  at  some 
odd  conceit  of  the  narrator's  ;  but  when  he  had  concluded,  he 
said  : — 

"  With  respect  to  the  subject  of  matrimony,  Jemmy,  I  have 
nothing  to  say,  though  if  you  insist  upon  my  advice,  I  should 
say,  since  you  have  lived  so  long  single,  at  your  age  I  think 
you  would  be  running  a  great  risk  in  taking  a  wife.  These 
ladies,  it  seems,  never  pressed  you  thus  before ;  it  is  your 
money  that  is  the  temptation  now." 

"To  be  sure  it  is,  sir,"  said  Jemmy,  "axing  your  pardon 
for  interrupting  you,  sir  ;  and  I'll  still  remain  true  to  my  poor 
Jane's  memory.  But  about  the  will,  sir  ?" 

"  I  was  about  to  say  in  regard  to  that  subject,"  resumed  the 
vicar,  "  that  I  think  it  will  be  a  very  sensible  action  on  your 
part.  If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would  set  about  it  imme 
diately." 

"  So  I  will,  then,"  said  Jemmy ;  "  but  there  won't  be  any 
need  of  calling  in  a  lawyer  1" 

"  Not  necessarily,  so  that  the  will  is  drawn  out  and  signed 
in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  although,  to  be  sure  that  no  errors 
are  made,  it  might  be  as  well  to  get  a  lawyer  to  draw  out  the 
document." 

"  It'll  be  so  plain,  I  shall  make  no  errors,  sir,"  said  Jemmy, 


296  THE   WANDERER 

"  and  I'll  do  without  a  lawyer,  if  possible  :  I  never  liked  'em, 
at  sea  nor  ashore — the  breed's  bad  ;  a  sea-lawyer  is  a  curse 
aboard  of  a  ship." 

"  I  presume  you  can  do  without,"  said  the  vicar,  smiling  at 
the  old  man's  prejudices. 

"  Can't  it  be  done  at  once,  sir  ?  "  asked  Jemmy. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  answered  the  vicar.  "  Have  you  the  prem 
ises  drawn  out  1 " 

*'  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir  ?"  replied  the  old  man  ; 
"  but  if  you'd  be  kind  enough  to  write  down  what  I  say,  I'll  be 
obliged  to  you,  and  you  can  be  the  witness." 

"  We  shall  require  another,  I  believe,"  rejoined  the  vicar, 
"  though  I  am  so  ignorant  of  the  necessary  forms,  that  I  cannot 
be  sure  that  such  is  the  case." 

"  Draw  it  out,  and  I'll  get  Doctor  Knight  to  call  with  me  to 
morrow,  and  sign  it,"  said  Jemmy. 

"  I  will,  if  you  require  it,"  said  the  vicar,  and  taking  a  quire 
of  paper  from  his  desk,  and  his  pen  in  his  hand,  he  wrote  at 
Jemmy's  dictation,  making  his  own  amendments  to  the  style 
and  syntax,  as  follows  : — 

"On  the  20th  day  of  May,  in  the  year  of  our  Lcfrd  18 — , 

"  I,  James  Milton,  of  the  parish  of  Herrington,  in  the  coun 
ty  of  Kent,  mariner,  being  of  sound  health  in  body  and  mind, 
do  hereby  make  my  will  and  testament,  and  give  and  bequeath 
my  property  as  follows  : — 

I  bequeath  to  my  well-beloved  friend,  Gerald  Dalton,  late 
of  Herrington,  son  of  Charles  and  Mary  Dalton,  the  sum  of 
Five  Thousand  pounds,  to  him  and  his  heirs  forever,  or  in  case 
of  his  decease,  I  give  the  same  sum  of  five  thousand  pounds  to 
Mary  Dalton,  the  mother  of  the  said  Gerald  Dalton,  or  in  case 
of  her  decease,  to  William  Ashley,  formerly  of  Herrington, 
and  now  of  Cdylon,  in  the  East  Indies. 

"  I  also  give  and  bequeath  the  interest  of  the  sum  of  one 
thousand  pounds  to  supply  once,  each  and  every  quarter  of  a 
year,  a  supper  to  those  messmates  who  have  united  with  me 


STEERS    CLEAR    OF   THE    WIDDER.  291 

at  the  old  boathouse  on  Herrington  beach,  known  as  Jemmy 
Milton's  boat-house,  at  the  same  period  for  a  series  of  years 
past,  so  long  as  they  shall  live,  and  at  their  death,  I  desire 
that  the  money  shall  be  equally  divided  amongst  the  survivors 
of  their  several  widows  and  children. 

"  I  furthermore  give  and  bequeath  the  interest  of  the  sum  of 
two  hundred  pounds,  forever,  to  be  employed  in  keeping  the 
aforesaid  boat-house  in  good  repair,  externally  and  internally. 

"  I  give  and  bequeath  to  the  corporation  of  Herrington  the  in 
terest  of  the  sum  of  two  thousand  pounds,  forever,  to  be  ex 
pended  in  the  purchase  of  coals  and  blankets  for  six  poor 
widows,  to  be  distributed  at  the  season  of  Christmas  every 
year,  by  the  vicar  of  the  Parish  of  Herrington,  according  to 
his  judgment. 

"  And  the  residue  of  my  property  at  the  period  of  my  death 
after  sufficient  shall  be  deducted  therefrom  to  provide  a  plain 
funeral,  I  desire  shall  be  divided  amongst  the  poor  widows  of 
seamen  of  the  parish  of  Herrington. 

"  Given  at  the  vicarage  of  the  parish  of  Herrington,  at  the 
date  above  mentioned. 

JAMES  MILTON  -f  His  mark. 

Witnc       -   1  THOMAS  PEARCE,  Vicar, 
'es'  }  CHARLES  KNIGHT,  M.  D. 

(The  last  written  signature  was  affixed  on  the  following  day, 
Jemmy  having  brought  Dr.  Knight  to  the  vicarage,  for  the 
purpose.) 

"  I  am  afraid  we  have  made  a  bungling  affair  of  this,  Jem 
my,"  said  the  vicar  after  he  had  read  it  aloud  to  the  old  fish 
erman,  "  but  I  fancy  it  will  be  as  binding  as  if  it  were  con 
structed  in  a  more  technical  style." 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  you  to  accept  some  bequest,  sir,"  said 
Jemmy,  he  having  repeatedly  urged  the  matter  while  the  vicar 
was  writing. 

"  No,  Jernmy,  I  thank  you,"  said  the  vicar,  "I  have  enough 


298  THE    WANDERER. 

for  myself  and  would  rather  not.  Let  the  will  stand  as  it  is." 
"  Very  well,  sir,  if  you  insist  upon  it,"  replied  the  old  man. 
"  I  will  now  bid  you  good  day,  and  thank'ee  for  your  trouble, 
and  1  think  I'll  make  short  work  of  that  'ere  trap  to  catch  me 
in  the  bonds  o'  matermony,  but  Peggy  Nelson'll  be  mortial 
angry." 

"  Good  day,  Jemmy,"  replied  the  vicar,  and  the  old  man 
left  the  parsonage. 

Many  months  passed  away  before  Jemmy  was  allowed  any 
peace — at  least  so  he  averred — by  the  antiquated  spinsters  and 
disconsolate  "  widdys,"  who  were  eager  to  entice  him  into 
their  toils,  but  he  proved  obdurate  and  resisted  all  their  bland 
ishments,  and  at  last  they  gave  up  the  idea  of  bringing  him  to 
their  feet,  and  Jemmy  was  allowed  to  smoke  his  pipe  and 
drink  his  beer  in  peace  in  his  favorite  retreat  at  the  old  boat- 
house  on  Herrington  beach. 


THE    FRENCH   SOUBRETTE.  299 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

Explaining  how  Minette  manages  to  procure  an  interview  with  Alice,  at  the 
Convent  at  Orleans,  and  showing  the  result  of  the  interview. 

MINETTE,  the  waiting-maid  of  Alice  Thornton,  whom  Mr. 
Craddock  had  discharged  in  Paris,  after  his  return  with  his  niece 
from  Cuba,  had  been  engaged  after  Alice  had  left  the  convent 
school,  expressly  to  attend  her  during  the  voyage  to  the  West 
Indies.  She  was  a  native  of  the  French  capital,  and  had  passed 
through  various  grades,  from  a  singing  girl  in  the  street,  to  a 
flower  vender,  and  thence  to  become  a  children's  "  bonne"  Her 
agreeable  and  intelligent  appearance  had  attracted  the  notice 
of  Mr.  Craddock,  and  he  had  offered  her  good  wages  to  accom 
pany  his  niece.  It  had  required  some  persuasion  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Craddock  to  induce  Minette  to  leave  her  dear  Paris, 
but  ambition  at  length  prevailed  over  inclination,  and  Minette 
found  herself  promoted  to  the  post  of  ladies'  maid,  the  acme  of 
her  ambition,  until,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  more  she 
should  marry  some  student  or  painter  from  the  Quartier  Latin, 
and  settle  down  as  a  married  woman,  for  life.  Nor  was  this 
latter  altogether  a  vague  idea  on  the  part  of  the  newly-pro 
moted  soubrette.  She  had  already  une  affaire  de  la  cceur  on 
hand,  which  promised  to  ripen  into  marriage,  the  object  of  her 
admiration  being  a  young  artist,  who  was  copying  at  the  Louvre, 
and  living  and  working  cheerfully  on,  in  the  hope  of  one  day 
securing  fame,  fortune,  and  Minette ;  and  when  the  young 
soubrette  had  engaged  to  attend  Ma'mselle  Alice,  she  had  been 
partly  tempted  to  undertake  the  voyage  and  forego  the  delights 
of  Paris  for  a  season,  in  hopes  that  the  wages  she  would  save 


300  THE    WANDERER. 

would  help  to  forward  the  happy  consummation  to  which  both 
she  and  Armand  both  looked  forward  with  much  impatience 
and  not  a  little  anxiety. 

Minette  possessed  most  of  the  virtues  and  frailties  of  her 
class.  She  was  capable  of  strong  attachment  to  those  who 
treated  her  kindly,  and  at  the  same  time  prone  to  resent,  with 
out  particular  regard  to  the  means  she  employed,  any  slight 
that  she  believed  she  had  received.  She  had  become  much  at 
tached  to  Alice,  who,  perhaps,  for  want  of  any  other  female 
friend  to  converse  with,  had  made  her  her  confidant.  During 
her  residence  at  the  convent  school,  Alice  had  acquired  a  fair 
acquaintance  with  the  French  language,  nothing  else  being 
spoken  by  her  teachers  and  daily  companions,  and  from  subse 
quently  conversing  in  that  language  with  Minette  during  the 
passage  to  the  West  Indies,  she  had  learned  to  speak  it  with  tol 
erable  fluency.  The  most  shrewd  and  cautious  often  overreach 
themselves,  and  Mr.  Craddock  was  little  aware  that  in  engaging 
this  humble  French  waiting-maid,  he  was  opening  the  way  to 
the  eventual  discovery  and  overthrow  of  his  scheme  of  aggran 
disement.  It  had  never  struck  him,  singular  as  it  may  appear, 
that  Alice  would  ever  make  a  confidant  of  her  maid,  or  that  a 
simple  soubrette  could,  by  any  possible  means,  defeat  the  object 
of  his  ambition. 

Minette  was  glad  to  return  home  to  la  belle  France,  yet  she 
would  willingly  have  remained  for  a  longer  period  in  the  ser 
vice  of  her  young  mistress  ;  the  object  of  her  service  was  not 
yet  attained  ;  her  purse  had  not  yet  acquired  the  plethoric  ful 
ness  that  she  wished  to  see.  She  had  heard  enough  of  Alice's 
history  to  suspect  that  something  was  wrong,  though,  as  Alice 
herself  was  ignorant  of  the  real  object  of  her  uncle,  the  waiting- 
maid,  of  course,  could  not,  with  all  her  shrewdness,  divine  the 
cause  of  his  actions.  She  knew,  however,  that  Ma'mselle  Alice 
had  been  sent  to  school  at  a  convent,  in  Orleans,  and  that  she 
was  not  permitted  to  correspond  with  her  former  friends.  She 
knew  that  Alice  cherished  a  secret  affection,  and  this  excited 


THE    FRENCH    SOUBRETTE.  301 

her  sympathies,  and  she  saw,  on  parting  with  her  young  mis 
tress,  that  she  was  overpowered  by  some  secret  grief,  and  she 
earnestly  inquired  its  cause.  Mr.  Oaddock  was  present,  and 
in  no  gentle  mood  at  the  time.  He  reproved  her  harshly  for 
what  he  called  impertinent  curiosity,  and  told  her  that  as  he 
had  paid  her  her  wages,  she  might  depart  as  soon  as  pos 
sible  ;  neither  he  nor  Miss  Alice  had  further  occasion  for  her 
services. 

Minette  stole  one  glance  at  Alice.  The  sad  smile  of  fare 
well  on  her  lips,  while  the  tears  filled  her  eyes,  touched  the 
heart  of  the  soubrette,  and  the  harsh  words  of  Mr.  Craddock  had 
deeply  wounded  her  pride.  She  smiled  at  Alice,  in  return — a 
smile  full  of  deep  meaning — and  then  haughtily  throwing  back 
her  head,  she  retreated  from  the  room  with  the  stately  step  of  a 
duchess. 

"  Ha !"  she  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  she  was  out  of  hearing, 
"  Quelle  hauteur,  sur  la  part  de  cet  Monsieur  Craddock,  je  suis 
pauvre,  ha!  Je  ne  besoin  pas  que  les  gages.  Cest  assez, 
ma'mselle  sera  venge." 

Minette  lost  no  time  in  seeking  out  Armand.  He  had  been 
successful,  and  was  elated  with  pride.  He  had  painted  a  pic 
ture  which  had  gained  the  prize  at  the  last  distribution.  This 
success  had  procured  him  several  orders,  and  he  had  earned 
since  Minette  had  quitted  Paris  what  appeared  to  him  a  large 
sum  of  money.  He  urged  upon  her  their  immediate  union. 

"  Not  so  fast,  mon  cher  Armand"  replied  Minette,  submit 
ting  herself,  however,  with  a  good  grace  to  her  lover's  caresses. 
"  You  have  yet  a  task  to  accomplish ;  that  done,  I  will  be  your 
wife." 

"  What  is  that  1"  demanded  Armand  in  great  surprise. 

Minette  related  what  had  passed  when  she  parted  from  her 
young  mistress. 

"  The  poor  child  is  betrayed,  Armand,"  she  said.  "  I  know 
not ;  she  knows  not  whither  she  is  going ;  but  she  has  been  to 
the  convent  school  at  Orleans.  I  believe  her  grvs  bete  d'un 


302  THE    WANDERER. 

oncle  is  going  to  carry  her  thither  again ;  perhaps  to  immure 
her  forever  in  the  convent,  so  that  she  shall  never  marry  him 
she  loves.  Think  of  that,  Armand.  Is  it  not  terrible  ?" 

"But  what  can  I  do,  Minette?"  said  Armand,  who  by  no 
means  fancied  the  idea  of  deferring  their  union  until  he  had 
accomplished  the  seemingly  hopeless  and  Quixotic  task  of  de 
livering  a  young  lady  from  a  convent.  "  I  cannot  release  the 
poor  lady." 

"Ah,  Armand,  comme  vous  etes  nigaud!"  said  Minette, 
playfully  patting  her  lover's  cheek.  "  Who  said,  mon  petit, 
that  you  were  to  deliver  the  young  lady  from  the  convent  ? 
Mon  dicu  I  I  don't  know  that  she  is  going  there.  I  have  only 
my  suspicions.  You  must  learn,  Armand." 

"  But  how,  Minette  ?" 

"The  thing  is  simple.  We  will  wait  awhile.  1  already 
know,  however,  that  Monsieur  has  taken  two  places  in  the  dili 
gence  for  Orleans  to-night.  That  strengthens  my  suspicions. 
In  the  course  of  a  week,  you  will  accompany  me  to  that  city. 
You  have  that  pretty  painting  of  the  holy  family  nearly 
finished  V 

"  Yes,"  replied  Armand,  glancing  at  the  picture  on  his  easel, 
and  wondering  what  that  had  to  do  with  the  question  at  issue. 

"Mafoif  Armand,  you  must  give  me  that  picture  as  a  last 
gift  for  my  sister." 

"  Que  diable  !  I  don't  understand,"  said  Armand.  "  What, 
give  you  my  picture  which  will  bring  me  two  hundred  francs  ?" 

"And  I  am  not  worth  that  sacrifice  T  said  Minette,  pouting 
prettily. 

"  ^es,  and  a  thousand  more,"  said  Armand  ;  "  but  what  will 
that  effect  ?" 

"  We  will  go  together  to  Orleans,  Armand,  you  and  I,  and 
I  will  go  to  the  convent  and  learn  from  the  porteress,  by 
means  of  a  trifling  bribe,  whether  a  young  lady  answering  the 
description  of  Ma'mselle  Alice,  who  was  formerly  at  school 
there,  has  returned." 


THE    FRENCH    SOUBRETTE 

"And  then  ?"  said  Armand. 

"  Why  then,  I  will  take  the  picture  and  ask  to  see  the  supe 
rior.  I  shall  be  admitted.  I  will  then  say  that  I  have  called 
to  see  my  sister  for  the  last  time  before  she  takes  the  veil,  and 
wish  to  give,  in  her  name,  this  picture  of  the  holy  family  to  the 
convent.  It  is  superb,  Armand.  You  will  one  day  be  a  great 
painter,"  continued  Minette  with  well-directed  flattery.  "And 
the  offer  will  be  accepted  ;  for  the  sake  gf  obtaining  the  picture, 
1  shall  be  permitted  to  see  Ma'mselle.^ 

"  And  what  object  will  that  effect  ?"  said  Armand.  still  unde 
cided. 

"  I  will  learn  what  are  the  names  of  her  friends  in  England. 
A  whisper  will  tell  me,  and  I  shall  recollect  well.  I  am  quick 
at  such  things.  Ma'mselle  never  told  me  yet,  for  fear  of  her 
uncle.  She  will  tell  me  now,  if  things  be  as  I  fear,  and  then 
you,  Armand,  who  are  so  clever,  and  can  do  everything,  shall 
write  to  her  friends — to  her  lover,  perhaps,  and  he  will  be  so 
rejoiced,  he  will  pay  you  more  than  two  hundred  francs  for  the 
loss  of  your  picture." 

This  last  suggestion  was  cleverly  thrown  in  by  the  shrewd 
soubrette,  and  went  somewhat  to  reconcile  Armand  to  the  loss 
of  his  painting.  After  considerable  demur,  he  suffered  him 
self  to  be  persuaded  by  his  mistress,  and  consented  to  the  ar 
rangement,  although  he  still  asserted  that  he  considered  it  an. 
absurd  scheme. 

However,  the  painting  was  finished,  and  a  week  after  this 
conversation,  Minette  and  her  lover  were  in  the  city  of  Orleans. 

Minette  soon  ascertained  that  her  suspicions  were  correct, 
and  that  Alice  was  in  the  convent,  and  by  the  promise  of 
another  bribe  to  the  porteress,  she  obtained  permission  to  call 
again  on  the  following  day,  when  the  porteress  promised  to 
introduce  her  to  the  superior. 

Minette  was  there  at  the  hour  appointed,  and  after  waiting 
for  a  short  time,  was  presented  to  the  superior.  She  carried 
the  painting,  set  in  a  neat  frame,  and  carefully  wrapped  in  can 
vas,  under  her  arm. 


304  THE   WANDERER. 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  say  to  me,  ma  cfiere?"  demanded 
the  superior. 

'*!  have  called,  madame"  said  Minette,  "  to  beg  permission 
to  bid  adieu  to  my  sister  Alice,  who  came  last  week  to  this 
convent.  You  will  not  refuse  me,  Madame]  I  shall  then 
never  see  her  again." 

"The  young  lady  Alice,  who  will  soon  change  the  name 
she  has  been  known  by  in  the  world,  has  no  sister,  I  have  been 
informed,"  said  the  superior. 

"  No,  madame,"  said  Minette  with  admirable  presence  of 
mind,  recovering  herself  from  the  blunder  she  saw  she  had 
made,  "  I  am  not  her  sister,  madame,  but  we  have  been  friends, 
and  I  love  her  as  a  sister.  I  was  far  away,  in  Paris,  when  she 
came  here,  and  1  have  come  all  the  way  to  see  her  once  more- 
You  will  not  refuse  me  that  little  pleasure,  Madame  ?" 

"  It  is  against  the  rules,"  replied  the  superior,  who,  how 
ever,  was  touched  by  the  proof  of  affection  that  had  induced  a 
young  girl  to  travel  all  the  way  from  Paris  to  see  her  friend 
once  again.  The  asceticism  of  the  convent  had  not  altogether 
destroyed,  though  it  had  deadened  the  sympathies  of  her 
woman's  heart.  However,  she  still  hesitated.  "  What  have 
you  there  ¥'  she  asked  sharply,  and  with  some  degree  of  suspi 
cion  in  her  tone. 

"  A  picture,"  said  Minette,  undoing  the  parcel,  "  which  I 
have  to  offer  to  Madame,  on  behalf  of  my  sister  Alice,  as  you 
will  permit  me  still  to  call  her." 

"  It  is  very  beautiful !"  said  the  Superior,  admiring  the 
painting,  which  Minette  had  taken  from  its  covering  and  ex 
posed  in  a  good  light,  "  and  I  thank  you,  my  good  girl ;  but, 
1  forgot,  Sister  Alice  is  English  and  you  are  French.  How 
came  you  to  be  acquainted  with  her  ?" 

"1  and  Alice  have  travelled  much  together,  madame,"  re 
plied  Minette.  "  It  is  no  reason  because  our  countries  are  dif 
ferent  that  we  should  not  be  friends  and  sisters." 

replied  the  Superior,"!  will  break  through  the 


THE    FRENCH    SOUBRETTE.  305 

regulations  for  once.  You  shall  see  sister  Alice,  but  it  must 
be  in  my  presence." 

"  1  am  content,"  replied  Minette. 

The  Superior  summoned  an  attendant  and  in  the  course  of 
a  few  minutes  Alice  appeared.  The  moment  she  saw  Minette 
she  rushed  into  her  arms.  All  distinction  of  social  position 
was  forgotten  in  her  joy  at  seeing  a  friendly  and  sympathizing 
face  again. 

The  Superior  was  overcome  by  this  exhibition  of  feeling. 
She  relaxed  her  severity  of  countenance,  saying  : — 

"  You  can  walk  together  on  the  parterre,  in  front  of  the  hall, 
my  children,  and  I  will  remain  here  ;  then  you  must  bid  each 
other  farewell." 

This  was  more  than  Minette  had  dared  to  hope.  The  two 
went  into  the  garden,  and  Minette  hastily  explained  to  Alice 
the  object  of  her  visit.  "  You  must  tell  me  now  what  you 
have  so  often  feared  to  tell ;  you  will  have  no  other  opportunity,'* 
she  said. 

They  saw  that  their  movements  were  closely  watched  by  the 
jealous  superior,  and  Alice  strove  hard  to  render  the  name 
and  address  of  Mr.  Pearce  familiar  to  the  lips  of  Minette,  but 
the  case  appeared  almost  a  hopeless  one  to  her  French  organs 
of  articulation.  At  length  Minette  observed  that  the  superi 
or's  back  was  turned  : — 

"  Write,  Mam'selle,"  she  said  huriedly,  "  here  is  pencil  and 
paper.  I  came  provided  for  all  emergencies."  And  Alice 
hastily  and  tremblingly  wrote  the  address,  "  Rev.  Mr.  Pearce 
Herrington  vicarage." 

"  That  is  all  I  can  do,"  she  said,  handing  the  slip  of  paper 
to  her  humble  friend. 

"  And  it  is  enough,  if  this  Monsieur  be  living,"  said  Minette. 
"  Adieu,  1  see  the  Superior  is  beckoning  to  us  ;  the  half  hour 
is  expired ;  be  of  good  courage,  marn'selle,  you  shall  soon, 
plait  a  Dieu  !  be  delivered  from  this  place." 

Adieus  were  interchanged,  and  soon  Minette  was  again  be- 


306  THE    WANDERER. 

yond  the  convent  walls.  Fearful  of  discovery  she  and  Armand 
set  out  that  night  for  Paris,  and  on  their  arrival  there  Armand 
at  the  dictation  of  his  mistress  wrote  a  letter  in  French  to  Mr. 
Pearce  explaining  all  that  it  lay  in  Minette's  power  to  explain. 
The  letter  was  duly  receiv-ed,  and  read  by  the  vicar  with  the 
utmost  amazement  and  indignation.  He  immediately  wrote 
to  Gerald,  enclosing  a  copy  of  the  French  letter,  expressing 
his  opinion  that  some  fraud  had  been  or  was  about  to  be  per 
petrated,  and  his  belief  that  the  letter  was  authentic.  Gerald's 
address  was  still  at  the  Cheringhee  Road,  Calcutta,  and  thither 
the  letter  was  directed  to  him,  and  a  duplicate  was  also  sent  to 
Mr.  Ashley  in  case  the  young  man  should  have  left  Calcutta, 
and  have  visited  Colombo,  which  Mr.  Pearce  did  not  consider 
at  all  improbable. 


LONG-EXPECTED    LETTEES  30t 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

Melancholy  news  and  its  results. 

LETTERS  came  at  last  from  Colombo  and  Calcutta,  but  there 
was  no  news  from  England,  and  Gerald's  despondency  increased 
notwithstanding  the  endeavors  of  his  cousin  to  cheer  him. 

"  Why  give  way  to  this  anxiety,  Gerald  *?"  he  said,  "  you 
know  the  old  adage,  'No  news  is  good  news.'  Had  anything 
serious  occurred  you  would  have  been  written  to  by  some  one 
or  other.  But  your  last  letter  has  little  more  than  reached 
home.  Cheer  up,  you  will  get  a  reply  to  it  in  good  time  and 
all  will  be  well." 

And  Gerald  was  fain  to  confess,  that  he  had  no  reason  to 
give  for  his  despondency  beyond  the  impression  left  on  his 
mind  by  the  singular  dream  he  had  dreamed,  shortly  after  the 
frigate  had  cast  anchor  in  the  port  of  Singapore — and  the 
waking  vision,  as  he  still  persisted  in  terming  it,  which  had 
preceded  it.  He  endeavored  to  drive  away  his  melancholy, 
by  entering  into  all  the  amusements  of  his  brother  officers  with 
alacrity  ;  but  the  effort  was  a  vain  one.  If  he  succeeded 
during  the  day  in  banishing  these  forebodings  of  evil  from  his 
mind,  they  returned  at  night  with  redoubled  intensity,  and 
he  was  glad,  when,  at  the  expiration  of  another  month,  orders 
were  received  for  the  frigate  to  proceed  to  Bombay,  and,  sub 
sequently,  to  cruise  in  the  Arabian  Sea.  He  thought  that  any 
change  were  preferable,  that  by  calling  his  attention  to  fresh 
scenes,  might  serve  to  dispel  the  gloom  that  burthened  his 
spirits. 


308  THE    WANDERER. 

For  five  months  the  frigate  remained  in  the  Bombay  station, 
and  then  returned  to  Colombo. 

As  soon  as  was  practicable,  after  the  vessel  was  brought  to 
an  anchor,  Frederick  and  Gerald  obtained  permission  from  the 
Captain  to  go  on  shore  and  visit  their  friends. 

Letters  were  now  awaiting  Gerald.  He  started  with  horror 
on  perceiving  that  the  superscription  on  both  was  in  the  hand 
writing  of  the  vicar  of  Herrington,  and  that  both  were  sealed 
with  black  wax,  and  staggered  back  to  the  cane  sofa  from  which 
he  had  risen  when  the  letters  were  handed  to  him  by  his  uncle, 
as  if  he  had  been  shot.  The  letters  had  fallen  from  his  hand, 
and  were  picked  up  from  the  floor  and  re-presented  to  him  by 
his  cousin,  Henry. 

"  Read  them,"  he  gasped,  addressing  his  uncle,  "  I  dare 
not," 

Mr.  Ashley  received  them  from  him,  and  broke  the  seals. 
The  first  one  opened  was  from  Mr.  Pearce,  enclosing  a  copy 
of  the  letter  received  from  Armand,  the  lover  of  Minette,  with 
a  few  words  of  comment  from  the  vicar  himself.  A  brief 
postscript  at  the  bottom  of  the  page  explained  the  cause  of  the 
black  seal. 

"  Since  this  was  written,"  wrote  the  vicar,  "  I  have  received 
sad  news  from  Abottsford.  Your  mother  is  no  more.  I  was 
about  to  dispatch  this  letter  to  the  post,  when  I  received  in 
telligence  of  her  death.  I  shall  detain  it  a  few  days,  until  I 
hear  further  from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Davis,  who  has  promised  to 
write  me.  at  greater  length." 

The  second  letter  was  also  from  the  vicar,  and  furnished  a 
brief  acccount  of  the  details  received  from  the  Rector  of  Ab- 
bottsford,  following  which,  was  some  other  information  of  a 
nature  calculated  greatly  to  interest  the  young  man. 

Mr.  Ashley  read  both  these  letters  in  silence  ;  but  from  the 
expression  of  his  countenance,  Gerald  readily  divined  the  nature 
of  the  communications. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  these  letters  bring  sad  intelligence 


SAD    NEWS    FROM    HOME.  309 

from  home,  Gerald,"  he  observed,  making  an  effort  to  control 
his  own  agitation.  "  Your  poor  mother  is  dead " 

"  I  knew  it — I  knew  it,"  replied  Gerald,  and  turning  to 
Frederick,  who  stood  by,  he  said  almost  fiercely :  "  Was  I  not 
forewarned  of  this?  Will  you  now  deny  that  I  was  not 
wide  awake  when  I  saw  that  vision  ?'' 

Frederick  made  no  reply.  He  was  himself  too  much  shock 
ed  to  speak. 

Mr.  Ashley  was  about  to  place  the  letters  again  in  his 
nephew's  hand ;  but  Gerald  motioned  him  back. 

"  Not  now,  uncle  ;"  he  said,  "  please,  not  just  now.  Will 
you  lay  them  on  the  table — I  will  read  them  another  time — 
another  time." 

He  spoke  so  wildly,  and  his  countenance  had  assumed  so 
strange  an  expression  that  Mr.  Ashley  became  alarmed. 

"  You  are  ill,  Gerald,"  he  said,  kindly,  "  the  shock  has  been, 
too  much  for  you  ;  but,  there  is  other  news  contained  in  these 
letters  which  you  will  be  glad  to  learn.'7 

"  Not  now,  uncle  ;  not  now,"  repeated  Gerald,  "  I  will  soon 
retire  to  my  room,  and  read  the  letters  alone — Frederick — 
Henry — will  you  bring  me  a  glass  of  water,  I  feel  faint." 

His  cousins  hastened  to  comply  with  his  request ;  but  before 
the  water  was  brought,  he  had  fainted,  and  lay  in  a  state  of 
unconsciousness  on  the  sofa. 

"  Poor  fellow !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ashley,  as  she  untied  his 
cravat,  and,  assisted  by  her  husband,  endeavored  to  restore 
him  to  himself.  "  It  is  a  dreadful  blow,  indeed."  She  applied 
the  customary  restoratives,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  young 
man  opened  his  eyes  and  glared  wildly  around  him.  Mrs. 
Ashley  put  the  glass  of  water  to  his  lips  and  he  drank  it 
greedily.  Then  passing  his  hand  over  his  brow,  as  one  bewil 
dered,  or  who  has  awakened  from  a  frightful  dream,  he  said, 
"  Ha!  I  recollect  now — my  mother  is  dead,  you  say — I  knew 
it — I  knew  it,  months  ago,  yes,  months  ago." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ashley  were  alarmed  ;  they  thought  his  reason 


310  THE    WANDERER. 

had  become  unsettled.  He  again  fixed  his  gaze  upon  his 
cousin,  Frederick,  in  a  manner  so  peculiar,  that  they  looked  at 
the  young  man  for  an  explanation,  when  Gerald  suddenly 
cried  ;  "  Answer  me  one  question,  uncle — when  did  this  hap 
pen  ;  when  did  my  mother  die?" 

"Shortly  before  midnight  on  the  17th  of  March,"  replied 
Mr.  Ashley. 

"  Frederick,"  said  Gerald,  "  you  recollect  I  told  you  it  was 
at  six  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  18th  of  March  just  at  the 
break  of  day,  when  the  vision  vanished,  and  I  became  conscious 
that  I  had  sat  for  hours,  in  fact,  daring  the  whole  night  before 
my  chest  in  the  Cabin.  That  was  the  exact  hour  of  my  mo 
ther's  death,  allowing  for  the  difference  of  time  between  Eng 
land  and  Singapore.  I  will  go  to  my  room,  now,"  he  contin 
ued,  "if  you  will  assist  me  there;  I  feel  so  weak.  I  will  take 
these  letters  with  me  and  read  them,  alone,  by  and  by." 

Mr.  Ashley  and  his  son  assisted  him  to  the  room,  and  offered 
to  stay  with  him  but  he  declined  the  offer. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  he  said  in  reply  to  their  expressions 
of  fear  lest  he  might  again  be  taken  ill.  "  I  shall  not  faint 
again.  It  was  the  effect  of  the  shock  received  so  suddenly. 
I  would  rather  be  left  quite  alone." 

His  request  was  acceded  to ;  but  Mr.  Ashley,  before  he 
left  him,  informed  him  that  one  of  the  letters  contained  some 
interesting  information  relating  to  Alice  Thornton. 

For  a  moment  his  eye  brightened  and  his  animation  appeared 
to  be  restored ;  but  he  speedily  relapsed  and  reiterated  his  de 
sire  to  be  left  alone. 

When  Mr.  Ashley  and  Frederick  returned  to  the  apartment 
in  which  they  had  left  Mrs.  Ashley  and  Henry,  he  explained 
to  the  astonished  group  the  cause  of  the  strange  observations 
that  his  cousin  Gerald  had  made,  and  related  the  particulars 
of  the  singular  vision  that  had  occurred  to  him  in  the  harbor  of 
Singapore. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  strange  coincidence,"  observed  Mr.  Ashley. 


THE  RECTOR'S  LETTER.          311 

"  I  have  heard  of  such  things,  but  never  before  had  any  evi 
dence  of  their  actually  occurring." 

The  unexpected  intelligence  of  Mrs.  Dalton's  death,  shed  a 
gloom  over  the  whole  family  and  deteriorated  from  the  delight 
they  would  have  otherwise  experienced  on  hearing  that  news 
had  been  received  of  Alice  Thornton,  though,  in  fact,  Mr.  Ash 
ley  was  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  intelligence  ;  the  copy  of 
Armand's  letter,  having  been  directed  to  Gerald,  was  of  course 
left  unread  by  Mr.  Ashley,  who  only  gained  his  knowledge 
from  the  inference  he  drew  from  the  allusions  made  to  the 
subject  by  Mr.  Pearce  in  the  envelope.  It  was  a  sorrowful 
evening  to  all  and  a  sad  damp  to  the  pleasure  that  the  visit 
of  the  young  men  would  otherwise  have  afforded,  although  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Ashley  had  anticipated  bad  news  when  the  letters 
with  the  black  seals  had  been  received. 

They  sat  up  far  beyond  their  usual  hour  of  retiring,  talking 
over  the  subject  and  recalling  to  mind  the  latest  conversations 
they  had  held  with  the  deceased,  before  quitting  England. 

Poor  Gerald  passed  a  sleepless  night :  he  sat  in  his  room  for 
an  hour  before  he  had  courage  to  peruse  the  letters ;  but  he 
summoned  resolution  at  last.  The  letter  from  the  vicar  having 
special  allusion  to  Mrs.  Dalton's  death,  supplied  the  young 
man  with  the  information  received  from  Mr.  Davis,  who  had 
written  to  the  effect  that  Mrs.  Dalton  had  been  for  a  long  time 
ailing,  but  that  her  death  occurred  very  suddenly,  she  having 
been  confined  to  her  bed  but  for  a  day  or  two.  Latterly,  he 
wrote,  she  had  expressed  great  anxiety  with  respect  to  her  son, 
whom  she  had  not  heard  from  for  a  long  time.  She  feared 
that  he  was  sick  ;  perhaps  that  he  had  died  in  a  foreign  land, 
with  no  one  near  him  to  soothe  his  last  moments,  and  to  listen 
to  his  dying  words.  The  day  before  her  death,  her  mind  wan 
dered  considerably,  and  in  these  moments  of  unconsciousness, 
she  talked  of  him  incessantly,  sometimes  tenderly  upbraiding 
him  for  not  writing  ;  sometimes  talking  to  him,  as  if  he  were 
present,  and  lavishing  endearing  epithets  upon  him  ;  while  at 


312  THE    WANDERER. 

other  times  she  addressed  him  earnestly  and  sorrowfully,  as 
if  she  feared  alike  for  his  spiritual  and  bodily  welfare.  Only 
an  hour  or  two  before  her  death,  the  postman  of  the  village 
had  arrived  with  the  mails,  and  a  letter  was  brought  to  the 
rectory  bearing  the  East  India  post  mark.  Mr.  Davis  at 
once  surmised  that  it  was  from  Gerald,  and  he  had  himself 
been  the  bearer  of  it  to  the  dying  woman.  A  messenger  ar 
rived  at  the  rectory  at  the  very  moment  he  was  leaving  the 
house,  requesting  his  immediate  attendance.  It  was  not  until 
then  that  he  was  aware  that  her  end  was  so  nigh  at  hand.  When 
he  reached  the  little  cottage  in  which  she  lived,  the  doctor  in 
formed  him  that  he  had  only  just  arrived  in  time  to  see  his  pa 
tient  alive.  Consciousness  had  returned,  and  she  was  talking 
sensibly  with  those  around  her.  The  moment  he  entered  the 
sick  chamber,  the  dying  woman  appeared  to  divine  the  object 
of  his  visit. 

"  You  bring  me  news  of  my  boy,  of  Gerald  ?"  she  said 
interrogatively.  "  I  feel  that  it  is  so.  God  has  heard  my  prayers 
and  a  letter  has  arrived  from  my  boy ;  I  shall  again  hear 
of  him  before  I  close  my  eyes  forever  to  this  world." 

Mr.  Davis  wrote  that  he  could  in  no  way  account  for  this 
singular  presentiment,  as  the  dying  woman  could  have  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  postman's  arrival,  since  he  came  at  very  ir 
regular  periods,  much  less  could  she  have  known  that  the  East 
India  mail  had  reached  England,  or  that  he  had  received  a  let 
ter  from  her  son. 

He  had  made  no  remark  at  the  time,  but  had  taken  the  let- 
ter  from  his  pocket  and  placed  it  in  her  hand  ;  subsequently, 
however,  he  learned  from  the  young  woman  who  attended 
her,  that  suddenly  rousing  herself  from  a  condition  of  stupor 
into  which  she  had  fallen,  talking  wildly  to  her  son,  as  if  he 
had  been  present,  she  said  :  "  it  is  so  ;  my  boy  has  not  forgot 
ten  me.  Send  for  Mr.  Davis ;  tell  him  to  hasten,  for  I  have 
not  long  to  live."  A  messenger  had  been  immediately  dis- 
po,tched,  and  had  met  the  clergyman  as  he  was  leaving  the 
rectory. 


THE    DYING    MOTHER.  313 

The  wasted  fingers  of  the  dying  woman  moved  nervously  as 
she  strove  to  break  the  seal.  "I cannot— I  cannot,"  she  said, 
letting  the  letter  fall  from  her  hand.  "  Pray  open — the  letter 
— and — read  it — for  me — "  she  added,  addressing  the  rector,  in 
faltering  accents,  gasping  at  each  word  for  breath.  "  Quick — 
quick — I  have  but  a  few  moments  to  spare  ;  I  am  summoned — 
even — now." 

The  clergyman  hastened  to  obey.  He  read  the  letter  aloud, 
but  the  senses  of  the  dying  woman  were  already  failing  her. 
"  Louder,"  she  murmured  feebly  ;  "  louder — closer  to  my  car. 
Let  me — not  lose  a  word  ;"  and  bending  his  head  to  her  ear 
as  closely  as  possible,  the  clergyman  again  commenced  the  let 
ter,  and  read  it  to  the  end.  "  Thank  you — thank  you,"  she 
murmured.  "  Thank  God  !  Now  pray  with  me,  I  have  but  a 
few  moments  left." 

The  clergyman  knelt  in  prayer  with  all  present,  and  when 
he  rose  from  his  knees,  consciousness  had  again  fled  from  the 
dying  woman.  She  lived  yet  for  an  hour,  but  made  no  sign  or 
motion  'till  a  few  moments  before  the  spirit  departed  from  her. 
Then  a  smile  of  love  and  tenderness  passed  across  her  wan  fea 
tures,  and  feebly  raising  her  head,  she  stretched  out  her  thin 
fore-finger  and  uttered  the  word  "  Remember."  The  hand  fell 
heavily  upon  the  bed,  and  her  spirit  had  flown  to  the  eternal 
world. 

The  clergyman,  after  eulogizing  the  character  and  speaking 
of  the  many  Christian  virtues  of  the  deceased,  furthermore 
wrote  that  he  had  taken  measures  to  provide  for  the  funeral, 
and  that  Mrs.  Dalton  had  expressed  a  desire,  a  short  time 
before  her  death,  to  be  interred  in  one  particularly  secluded 
spot  in  the  village  church-yard,  and  that  he  should  see  that  her 
wish  was  carried  out. 

He  would,  he  added,  place  a  tomb-stone  over  the  grave,  at 
his  own  expense,  but  he  had  thought,  that  in  the-  event  of  her 
son  returning  to  England,  the  young  man  would  wish  to  per 
form  himself  this  act  of  filial  pity  ;  he,  therefore,  should  leave 


314  THE    WANDERER. 

that  undone  for  the  present,  until  he  heard  from  the  young  man 
in  question. 

In  the  latter  portion  of  the  letter,  Gerald  found  some  intelli 
gence,  which  under  other  circumstances  would  have  given  him 
pleasure,  but  which  now  only  increased  his  distress  and  added 
to  his  bitterness  of  feeling.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  HofF- 
in aim  had  received  his  second  letter  from  India,  and  had  seen  the 
captain  of  the  Seringapatam,  and  that  he  was  now  satisfied  that 
he  had  judged  the  young  man  too  hastily.  He  asked  his  for 
giveness  for  what  had  passed,  and  urged  him  to  return  home. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald,  bitterly  :  "  Return  home,  now.  It  is 
your  injustice  that  has  led  to  all  this  misery.  I  shall  never 
return  home  again." 

He  laid  the  letter  aside,  and  opened  that  from  the  vicar  re 
lating  to  Alice.  The  letter  from  Armand  had  been  copied  in 
the  original  language.  Gerald  was  a  very  poor  French  scholar, 
but  with  some  difficulty,  he  managed  to  gather  its  purport.  His 
plans  were  altered.  "  Yes,"  he  muttered,  "  I  will  return  to 
England,  and  find  Alice,  if  she  be  living,  and  avenge  her  wrongs. 
She  is  all  I  care  to  live  for  now.  And  then  we  will  go  to  Ame 
rica  together ;  I  am  weary  of  England,  of  India,  of  all  the  world ; 
but  my  native  land  shall  be  my  future  home." 

The  information  contained  in  this  last  letter  seemed  to  dis 
tract  his  thoughts,  in  some  degree,  from  the  sad  intelligence 
contained  in  the  former  one,  although  he  now  blamed  himself 
severely  for  giving  way  to  the  obstinacy  and  pride  which  had 
led  him  to  remain  in  India.  "  Had  I  subdued  that,"  he  said, 
"I  should  probably  have  myself  closed  my  mother's  dying 
eyes." 

Morning  dawned,  and  found  him  still  sleepless ;  but  weary 
Nature  at  length  gave  way,  and  he  fell  into  an  uneasy  slumber, 
from  which  an  hour  afterwards  he  was  awakened  by  the  voice 
of  Mrs.  Ashley,  who  came  to  ask  how  he  had  passed  the  night, 
and  to  condole  with  him  upon  his  loss.  At  her  earnest  per 
suasion,  he  descended  with  her,  and  joined  the  family  at  the 


A    NEW    RESOLVE  315 

breakfast  table,  where  he  expressed  to  his  uncle  his  intention 
of  immediately  returning  to  England,  if  by  any  means  he  could 
quit  the  frigate  on  so  short  a  notice. 

"I  don't  think  you  will  find  any  difficulty  in  doing  that," 
said  Frederick.  "My  father  will  explain  to  the  captain  your 
object  in  desiring  to  return,  and  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  give 
his  consent  readily." 

That  same  day  the  captain's  consent  was  obtained,  and  the 
young  man  tendered  his  resignation,  as  a  matter  of  form.  A 
vessel  was  then  in  port,  taking  in  a  cargo  for  Bombay,  to  which 
port  Gerald  resolved  to  go,  as  thence  he  would  be  sure  to  find 
vessels  at  all  seasons  bound  to  England,  and  in  the  course  of  a 
week  he  was  on  his  way  thither,  and  almost  immediately  alter 
his  arrival,  he  took  passage  on  board  a  vessel  bound  to  Liver 
pool. 


316  THE   WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Gerald  arrives   at  Liverpool,  and  proceeds  to  Herrington. — His  interview 
with  the  vicar. — More  news  of  Alice. — Gerald's  plans. — A  voyage  to  Cuba. 

THE  bark  Laurel,  on  board  which  Gerald  had  sailed  from 
Bombay,  arrived  at  Liverpool  after  a  favorable  passage  of 
ninety  days,  and,  allowing  himself  no  time  for  rest,  the  young 
man  immediately  took  the  railroad  cars,  then  but  a  few  years 
in  operation,  for  London,  whence  he  proceeded  by  stage  to 
Herrington,  and  on  the  very  night  of  his  arrival  at  the  latter 
place,  notwithstanding  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  he  walked  to 
the  vicarage  to  seek  Mr.  Pearce. 

The  vicar  was  reading  in  his  parlor,  when  the  servant  an 
nounced  the  young  man's  presence. 

"  Mr.  Gerald  Dal  ton,  from  India,  is  waiting  in  the  hall,  and 
wishes  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  Bless  me  !"  exclaimed  the  vicar,  closing  his  book  and 
starting  from  his  chair.  "  Show  him  up  directly,  Thomas. 
Stay,  I'll  go  myself.  Who'd  have  thought  it?  What  a  sur 
prise  !  Gerald  come  back  !"  and  giving  vent  to  a  dozen  simi 
lar  ejaculations,  the  worthy  vicar  hurried  down  stairs  and  met 
Gerald  in  the  hall. 

"  Welcome  back,  Mr.  Dal  ton  !  Welcome  back,  Gerald !" 
he  said,  seizing  the  young  man's  extended  hand,  and  shaking  it 
warmly  and  vigorously,  giving  one  of  those  hearty  shakes  that 
tell  one  more  plainly  than  words  can  express,  that  the  welcome 
extended  is  a  heartfelt  one.  "  Come  up  stairs,  my  boy ; 
come  up  stairs.  When  did  you  arrive  ?  Why  didn't  you 
write  and  let  me  know  that  you  were  coming  ?  Bless  me  ! 


EXPLANATIONS.  311 

who'd  have  thought  of  seeing  you  to-night  ?  And  how  stout 
you've  got ;  and  so  brown,  I  should  scarcely  have  known  you. 
Take  a  seat ;  take  a  seat.  No  apologies."  (Gerald  had  apolo 
gized  for  his  dusty,  travel-soiled  appearance.) 

And  the  young  man  took  the  proffered  seat,  and  after  asking 
several  questions  and  replying  to  various  inquiries,  at  once 
broached  the  main  object  of  his  visit. 

"  I  need  scarcely  explain,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that  the  reason  of 
my  leaving  India  so  soon  after  I  received  your  letter,  has  been 
to  prosecute  inquiries  respecting  Miss  Alice  Thornton.  Have 
you  heard  any  further  news  of  her  ?" 

"  I  have  received  two  letters  since,  from  the  young  French, 
man,"  replied  the  vicar,  "  and  I  really  begin  to  believe  that 
there  has  been  some  extraordinary  foul  play  at  work,  more 
especially  as  Dr.  Knight  paid  a  flying  visit  to  Paris  a  month 
or  two  since  with  the  express  object  of  seeing  the  young  man. 
He  is  an  artist,  and  the  doctor  says  appears  to  be  a  very 
worthy,  intelligent  young  fellow.  He  also  saw  the  young 
woman,  Minette,  who  asserts  that  she  served  Alice  in  the  capa 
city  of  waiting-maid  in  the  island  of  Cuba,  and  she  appears  to 
be  a  very  decent  young  female,  with  all  the  sprightliness  and 
energy  of  purpose  peculiar  to  a  French  girl,  when  her  interest 
is  excited  in  some  special  object." 

"And  this  man,  Mr.  Craddock,  what  of  him,  sir?  Has  any 
thing  been  heard  of  him  ]" 

"  Yes ;  Doctor  Knight  saw  him  in  Paris,  but  did  not  make 
himself  known  ;  and  Minette  writes  in  her  last  letter,  received 
only  a  few  weeks  since,  that  he  is  still  in  that  city." 

"  Has  anything  transpired,  sir,  that  can  furnish  a  clue  to  his 
motive  in  thus  persecuting  Miss  Thornton  ?"  asked  Gerald. 

"  There  it  is,"  continued  the  vicar ;  "  the  letters  from  Ar- 
mand  are  so  ambiguous  in  style.  The  writer  evidently  knows 
little  or  nothing  about  the  matter  himself;  indeed,  he  and  the 
young  woman  both  said  as  much  to  Dr.  Knight,  that  one 
scarcely  knows  what  steps  to  take.  All  we  can  be  certain  of 


318  THE    WANDERER. 

is,  that  the  poor  young  lady  has  suffered  persecution.  I  have 
no  doubt  some  pecuniary  matter  is  involved — and  she  is  now, 
and  has  been  for  some  time  past,  immured  in  a  convent,  near 
Orleans.  I  have  no  doubt,"  continued  the  vicar,  with  a  Pro 
testant  clergyman's  holy  horror,  at  the  bare  thought,  "that 
Mr.  Craddock's  purpose  is,  if  she  refuse  to  consent  to  some 
arrangement  or  other,  which  we  are  all  ignorant  of,  to  compel 
her  eventually  to  take  the  veil.  Minette,  the  waiting-woman, 
however,  has  given  a  slight  inkling  of  the  cause  of  this  perse 
cution  :  She  says  that  she  thinks — she  is  not  certain — but  she 
thinks,  that  Mr.  Cr ad  dock,  who  is  her  uncle,  as  I  informed 
you  in  my  letter,  wishes  to  force  her  to  consent  to  marry  his 
son — her  cousin." 

"But,"  said  Gerald,  "is  there  no  possibility  of  taking  im 
mediate  measures  to  procure  her  release  ?  Can  it  be  possible 
that  a  young  English  girl  can  be  lawfully  carried  off  and  im 
mured  in  a  jail,  for  it  is  little  better — nay,  in  some  respects 
much  worse  !" 

"  I  fear  not,"  replied  the  vicar,  "  unless  we  have  some  good 
grounds  for  our  interference.  You  see  this  Mr.  Craddock 
is  her  uncle,  her  only  known  relative  living,  and  Alice,  yet 
wanting  some  months  of  her  majority,  he  is  in  fact,  her  natural 
guardian,  so  I  have  reason  to  believe  the  law  would  render  it. 
By  interfering  too  rashly,  we  might  fail  in  our  object  alto 
gether." 

"  Good  heavens  !"  exclaimed  Gerald,  "Is  there  no  clue  that 
we  can  weave  a  plan  of  action  upon  1  Is  the  poor  girl  to  re 
main  subject  to  the  tyranny  of  this  man  ?" 

"  I  think  there  is,  Gerald,"  continued  the  vicar,  "  but  it  will 
require  time,  and  involve  considerable  expense  and  trouble 


"  I  have  sufficient  money,  sir,"  interrupted  Gerald,  "to 
serve  me  a  year,  and  trouble  as  regards  this  matter,  I  shall  not 
heed  ;  but  time  is  the  mischief — while  we  are  wasting  time, 
this  man  may  force  Alice  into  his  views ;  but,  I  beg  your  par- 


THE   DECISION.  319 

don — what  is  the  clue  to  the  cause  of  this  infamous  coercion,  of 
which  you  speak  V 

"  Jt  is  this,"  replied  the  vicar,  "I  have  observed  that  there 
is  good  reason  to  believe  that  the  object  of  the  persecu 
tion  is  of  a  pecuniary  nature.  I  don't  see  what  other  motive 
Mr.  Craddock  could  have  in  seeking  to  coerce  his  niece.  Now, 
listen;  he  took  the  young  lady  to  Cuba,  and  there,  according 
to  the  French  waiting-maid,  endeavored  to  force  her  to  wed 
his  son.  Minette  also  says,  thereby  .corroborating  the  impres 
sion  of  Mr.  Ashley,  that  Alice  has  told  her  more  than  once, 
that  her  mother  was  a  native  of  Cuba,  though  of  English  parent 
age.  The  plantation  upon  which  Mr.  Craddock  resided  in 
Cuba,  is  said  to  be  a  very  extensive  and  valuable  estate  ;  put 
ting  these  things  together,  I  am  led  to  the  conclusion,  that  the 
property,  of  right,  belongs  to  Alice,  and  that  by  obtaining  his 
niece's  consent  to  marry  her  cousin,  Mr.  Craddock  hopes  to 
bring  the  estate  into  his  own  or  at  least  into  his  son's  posses 
sion.  I  can  see  no  other  motive  for  the  persecution,  and  I 
think  the  argument  I  have  advanced  is  a  plausible  one." 

"  I  think  so  too,  sir,"  said  Gerald,  eagerly  ;  "  but  how  to  act 
iti-such  a  case,  that  is  the  question.  I  will  go  myself  to  Cuba." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  was  going  to  propose,"  said  the 
vicar  ;  "  but  you  must  see  your  way  clearly  first.  The  Cuban 
government  is  a  very  jealous  one;  one  ill-advised  step  might 
spoil  all.  I  have  been  speaking  to  Knight  upon  the  subject, 
and  he  agrees  with  me  that  some  one  interested  in  the  young 
lady  ought  to  go  to  Cuba,  and  probe  the  subject  to  the  bottom ; 
but  Mr.  Craddock  must  remain  in  ignorance  of  any  such  action 
having  been  taken.  You  are  the  best  person  to  go  ;  but  you 
will  require  letters  of  introduction  and  vouchers  of  respecta 
bility.  Now  Knight  is  acquainted  with  one  of  the  members  of 
a  Spanish  mercantile  firm  in  Liverpool,  and  the  house  has  a 
branch  at  Havana.  He  can  procure  you  letters  from  his  friend 
to  the  partners  in  Cuba,  and  they  will  advise  you  how  to  act 
when  you  arrive  there.  I  believe  that  there  is  a  will  leaving 


320  THE    WANDERER. 

this  property  to  Alice  from  one  of  her  maternal  relatives,  and 
that  her  uncle  has  unlawfully  obtained  possession  of  it,  with  the 
object  of  accomplishing  certain  ends  of  his  own.  I  am  not 
sure  that  this  is  the  case  ;  but  you  will  allow  that  circumstan 
ces  point  that  way."  » 

"  Undoubtedly,"  eagerly  replied  Gerald,  jumping  at  once  to 
the  conclusion  he  had  arrived  at,  in  his  usual  sanguine  man 
ner. 

The  vicar  smiled  at  the  young  man's  impetuosity  : 

"Don't  be  too  sanguine,  Gerald,''  he  said,  "  we  may  be  all 
wrong  ;  but  to-morrow  morning  we  will  see  Dr.  Knight  to 
gether,  and  arrange  the  matter.  I  trust,  satisfactorily." 

The  conversation  then  took  another  turn  and  Gerald  spoke 
of  his  mother,  and  of  the  remorse  he  had  felt  and  still  contin 
ued  to  feel  at  his  wilful,  obstinate  conduct. 

Whatever  Mr.  Pearce  might  have  thought,  he  "  forbore  to 
chide,"  rather  endeavoring  to  console  the  young  man,  by  speak 
ing  of  the  consolation  Mrs.  Dal  ton  experienced  in  her  dying 
hour,  from  the  letter  which  had  so  opportunely  arrived. 

This  was  touching  a  tender  chord  in  Gerald's  breast.  It 
brought  to  his  recollection  the  singular  vision  he  had  seen,  and 
he  related  the  circumstances  to  the  vicar. 

"  It  was  indeed  strange,"  said  the  latter,  when  he  had  heard 
the  story.  "  I  have,  however,  heard  of  such  things,  though  it 
is  impossible  to  explain  them  satisfactorily.  It  would  seem  to 
be  conclusive  that  there  is  a  subtle  magnetic  attraction  by  which 
we  are  sometimes  enabled  to  hold  spiritual  communion  together, 
altogether  independent  of  the  body ;  but  these  things  are  be 
yond  our  feeble  comprehension  ;  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  but 
a  dream,  although  the  coincidence  was  singular.  Are  you 
going  down  to  Abbottsford1?" 

"Not  now,"  replied  the  young  man.  "The  visit  would  un 
nerve  me,  and  render  me  unfit  for  the  task  I  have  to  perform. 
1  must  visit  the  grave  of  my  mother  alone,  with  my  mind  free 
from  any  other  anxiety.  When  I  return  from  Cuba,  I  shall 


OLD    FRIENDS.  321 

go  thither  and  render  the  last  service  to  her  memory  which  I 
have  hitherto  been  unable  to  perform.  But  it  is  growing  very 
late,  and  I  am  keeping  you  up  beyond  your  usual  hour  of  re 
tiring.  I  will  now  wish  you  good  night,  and  to-morrow  I  will 
see  you  again." 

"Why  not  remain  here  to-night?  I  have  a  spare  bed  at 
your  service.'' 

"  I  thank  you,"  replied  Gerald,  "  but  my  luggage  is  at  the 
King's  Arms,  and  as  you  perceive,  I  have  not  yet  made  any 
alteration  in  my  -attire,  I  was  so  anxious  to  see  you.  I  had  bet 
ter  return  to  the  inn  to-night."  * 

"As  you  please,"  replied  the  vicar.  "  If  you  are  resolved 
to  go,  good  night.1' 

"  By  the  by,"  said  Gerald,  as  he  took  his  hat  from  the  table 
near  him.  "  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  inquire  after  my  old 
friend  Jemmy  Milton.  I  hope  the  old  man  is  welk" 

"  Quite  well,  only  that  he  is  beginning  to  feel  the  infirmities 
of  age.  By  the  way,  I  have  some  news  to  tell  you  in  relation 
to  old  Jemmy.  The  deacon,  his  brother  is  dead,  and  the  old 
man  has  come  into  possession  of  his  property.  There  is  some 
thing  too,  having  relation  to  you,  which  will  surprise  you  when 
you  hear  it,  but  1  shall  defer  the  explanation  till  to-morrow. 
Again,  good  night." 

"  Good  night,  sir,"  returned  Gerald,  as  he  quitted  the  room. 
A  few  minutes  walk  carried  him  to  the  hotel,  and  fatigued  with 
the  travel  toil  of  the  day,  and  the  excitement  he  had  passed 
through,  he  retired  to  his  chamber  and  was  soon  asleep. 

The  next  day  he  repeated  his  visit  to  the  vicarage,  and  met 
Dr.  Knight  there,  according  to  appointment.  Armand's  letters 
were  read  and  re-read,  and  the  doctor  repeated  the  conversa 
tion  he  had  held  with  the  young  Frenchman  and  Minette. 
Comparing  one  with  the  other,  there  remained  little  doubt  in 
the  mind  of  any  one  of  the  party  that  the  surmise  of  the  vicar 
would  prove  to  be  correct,  and  it  was  decided  that  Gerald 
should  sail  immediately  for  the  West  Indies.  The  young  man 


322  THE    WANDERER. 

wished  to  visit  Paris  and  see  Armand  and  Minette  himself,  but 
he  was  overruled  by  his  friends,  who  feared  that  something 
might  occur  to  excite  the  suspicions  of  Mr.  Craddock,  who 
might  learn  by  some  means  that  he  was  in  Paris,  and  take 
measures  to  defeat  his  object. 

Dr.  Knight  promised  to  procure  the  letters  of  introduction 
that  had  been  alluded  to  the  night  before,  and  wrote  immediately 
to  Liverpool  with  that  object.  Gerald  dined  at  the  vicarage 
with  Mr.  Pearce  and  the  Doctor,  and  after  dinner  set  out  to 
pay  a  visit  to  Jemmy  Milton,  whose  generosity  towards  him 
self,  he  had  heard  during  dinner.  He  found  the  old  man,  as 
he  had  expected,  seated  in  the  boathouse.  He  looked  as  halo 
and  hearty  as  ever,  smoking  his  pipe  and  gazing  upon  the  sea 
dotted  with  vessels  of  every  description,  passing  through  the 
narrow  channel.  Jemmy  was  overjoyed  to  see  his  favorite 
once  more. 

"  Gerald,"  he  said,  after  the  first  warm  salutations  were  over, 
this  here  does  my  old  eyes  good.  I  never  expected  to  see  you 
again  on  this  yarth.  I'm  near  up  to  the  full  three  score  and  ten, 
and  shall  soon  be  into  the  period  when  the  days  is  '  full  of 
trouble  and  sorrow  ;  '  but  I'm  passin'  away  comfortable,  and 
my  blessin's  is  more  than  I  desarve.  The  old  hulk  lives  on 
while  the  young  is  taken  off.  Your  mother,  Gerald,  was  con 
siderable  younger  than  me,  and  it  was  only  reasonable  to  ex 
pect  that  my  glass  'ud  run  clown  afore  her'n  ;  but  Providence 
has  willed  it  otherwise,  and  nobody  has  any  right  to  complain  ; 
but  I  was  mortal  sorry  to  hear  on  the  good  lady's  death.  Times 
has  changed,  Gerald,  since  you  left  home.  You've  heerd, 
I  s'pose,  as  I've  come  into  the  deacon's  money  ]" 

"  Yes."  replied  Gerald,  "  Mr.  Pearce  told  me  to-day,  and 
he  also  informed  me  of  your  intended  generosity  towards  me  ; 
but  I  cannot  consent  to  accept  it,  Jemmy.  It  would  not  be 
right." 

"  Why  not  1"  said  the  old1  man.  "  I've  n'ary  chick  nor 
child  to  leave  it  to,  and  the  vicar  tells  me  how  news  has  been 


OLD    FRIENDS.  323 

heerd  of  Miss  Alice,  poor  little  thing !  You'll  want  money, 
Gerald,  when  you  and  she  comes  together.  I  won't  hear  a 
word  agin  the  legacy,  as  they  calls  it.  It's  my  business,  and 
nobody  has  a  right  to  gainsay  me.  But  you'll  be  a  goin'  arter 
Alice,  Gerald,  and  mayhap  a  little  matter  o'  money  'ud  be  sar- 
viceable  now ;  say  the  word,  lad,  and  it's  your'n  at  any  time. 
I  ain't  no  use  for  't,  and  Jernmy  Milton  ain't  the  man  to  keep 
his  friends  a  waitin'  for  dead  men's  shoes." 

"  I  thank  you  sincerely,  Jemmy,"  replied  Gerald,  "  but  I 
have  money  enough  at  present  for  my  purposes.  I  am  going 
to  sail  shortly  for  Cuba,  where  I  hope  to  be  able  to  clear  up 
the  mystery  that  has  so  long  .surrounded  this  strange  affair.  I 
trust  I  shall  succeed,  and  that  ere  long  Alice  and  I  may  to 
gether  thank  you  for  the  interest  you  have  ever  expressed  in 
our  behalf." 

"But  the  legacy,  Gerald,"  said  the  old  man,  earnestly; 
"  you  won't  deny  an  old  man's  wish,  and  refuse  the  rhino  when 
I'm  dead  and  gone  ?" 

"  I  should  be  foolish  to  do  so,  if  you  so  much  desire  it,  and 
have  no  nearer  and  dearer  friend  to  whom  to  leave  it,"  said 
Gerald.  "  If  I  am  satisfied  such  is  the  case,"  he  added,  smil 
ing,  "  I  shan't  object;  but  I  hope  it  will  be  many  years  before 
I  am  called  upon  to  accept  it." 

"That's  spoken  like-  yourself,  Gerald.  You've  eased  my 
mind  of  a  load,  boy.  I'd  have  been  shocking  cut  up  if  you'd 
have  continued  to  refuse.  As  to  living  very  many  years,  it 
can't  be  expected  in  the  course  of  natur.  Howsumever,  my 
health  is  tolerable  good  yet,  and  I  should  like  to  live  long 
enough  to  see  you  and  Miss  Alice  spliced,  and  then  I  shall  feel 
ready  to  slip  my  cable  at  any  moment  that  the  word's  passed 
from  aloft." 

Gerald  remained  until  late  conversing  with  the  old  man,  and 
then,  after  walking  with  him  to  his  lodgings,  returned  to  the 
inn. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days,  Dr.  Knight  received  letters  from 


324  THE    WANDERER. 

Liverpool,  offering  to  assist  him  in  any  possible  way,  and 
Gerald  started  for  Liverpool,  where  he  received  letters  of  in 
troduction  to  the  house  of  Hornby  &  Co.  of  Havana,  the  firm 
being  requested  therein  to  assist  him  to  the  extent  of  their  ca 
pability.  Within  a  week,  he  was  on  his  way  to  Cuba. 

The  passage  was  a  short  and  favorable  one,  and  on  his  arri 
val  at  Havana,  he  called  immediately  upon  the  Messrs.  Hornby, 
and  presented  his  letters. 

"I  recollect  something  of  this  matter,"  said  the  senior  part 
ner  of  the  firm,  when,  after  he  had  read  the  letters  of  introduc 
tion,  Gerald  explained  the  object  of  his  voyage.  "  It  created 
at  the  time  some  little  excitement  and  suspicion,  the  departure 
of  Mr.  Craddock  was  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  and  during  his 
stay  here,  the  young  lady,  his  niece,  was  kept  in  such  seclu 
sion  ;  that  is  to  say,  she  was  not  permitted  to  make  the  ac 
quaintance  of  any  of  the  European  or  American  ladies  residing 
here.  But  if  it  be  as  you  suspect,  we  shall  need  to  act  with 
caution." 

"  What  would  you  advise?"  said  Gerald. 

"I  would  insert  a  cautiously  worded  advertisement  in  the 
Gazette,  stating  that  an  interview  is  requested  with  the  late  ex 
ecutor  of  the  Craddock  estates ;  I  don't  know  who  the  man  is  ; 
but  the  property,  1  know,  has  been  for  some  years  in  litigation, 
and  the  case  was  at  last  decided  in  favor  of  Craddock.  What 
was  the  tenor  of  the  will,  I  never  heard." 

"And  if  I  by  this  means  discover  the  executor?" 

"  Then  I  would  state  the  case  clearly  to  him,  explaining  the 
method  employed  to  abduct  the  young  lady,  and  the  suspicions 
to  which  this  conduct  has  given  rise,  and  I  would  demand  a 
sight  of  the  will.  You  had  better  assume  a  lofty,  authoritative 
tone  ;  it  will  serve  you  here.  And  before  you  take  any  steps 
in  the  matter,  I  will  introduce  you  to  some  of  the  high  officials 
of  the  government,  with  whom  I  am  acquainted.  Should  you 
afterwards  discover  the  person  you  seek,  I  will  get  one  of  these 
gentlemen  to  accompany  you  to  his  residence.  Do  you  speak 
Spanish  ?" 


THE    PLOT    LAID    OUT.  325 

<{  No,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"Then  I  will  also  accompany  you  in  the  capacity  of  inter 
preter  ;  but  \ve  are  reckoning  without  our  host.  We  must 
first  lay  the  train  properly.  Dine  with  me  to-night,  the  in- 
tendant  will  be  at  my  house.  I  will  manage  to  introduce  the 
subject,  and  get  matters  into  a  proper  shape,  and  to-morrow 
insert  the  advertisement." 

Gerald  accepted  the  invitation,  and  thanking  the  merchant 
for  his  kindness,  left  the  office,  and  set  out  for  a  stroll  through 
the  city. 

In  the  evening,  he  met  the  intendant  and  one  or  two  other 
officers,  at  the  residence  of  the  merchant,  and  after  dinner,  Mr. 
Hornby  introduced  the  subject,  and  so  managed  to  interest 
his  Cuban  friends,  that  they  consented,  for  a  consideration,  as 
was  pretty  broadly  hinted,  to  assist  the  young  man  in  his  en 
deavors,  if  their  assistance  should  be  required. 

The  next  day  a  notice  appeared  in  the  Havana  Gazette,  call 
ing  for  information  respecting  the  executor  of  the  estate  of  the 
late  William  Craddock,  Esq.,  of  Regla,  and  in  the  event  of  that 
gentleman's  being  still  in  Cuba,  asking  for  an  interview,  which 
would  result  to  his  advantage. 

A  reply  was  inserted  in  the  same  journal  in  a  few  days, 
stating  that  the  gentleman  in  question,  Seiior  Alvero,  was  re 
siding  on  a  plantation,  near  St.  Eugenio,  and  that  he  would  be  in 
the  city  of  Havana  at  the  commencement  of  the  ensuing  week, 
when  he  would  grant  the  interview  demanded. 

Thus  far,  all  worked  well,  and  Gerald  waited  with  impatience 
for  the  day  that  would  bring  about  the  promised  interview. 


326  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER  XXX: 

The  interview  with  the  executor,  showing  how  he  fell  into  the  snare  laid 
for  him,  and  now  Mr.  Craddock  consented  to  the  release  of  his  niece  from 
the  convent — He  returns  to  England. 

THE  interview  with  Seiior  Alvero  took  place  a  few  days  af 
terwards.  The  sefior  was  greatly  surprised  when  he  discovered 
the  object  for  which  he  had  been  summoned  ;  perhaps  he  had 
received  a  douceur  from  Mr.  Craddock ;  perhaps  he  had  made 
a  trifle  on  his  own  private  account  by  pandering  to  that  gentle 
man's  desires.  At  all  events,  it  was  very  evident  that  he  ex 
pected  he  had  been  sought  for  for  a  very  different  purpose  ;  but 
the  trap  had  been  laid  so  adroitly,  that  before  he  discovered  it, 
he  had  involved  himself  beyond  possibility  of  retraction. 

On  notifying  his  arrival  at  Havana  to  Mr.  Hornby,  by  whom 
the  advertisement  had  been  signed,  he  was  asked  to  meet  a  party 
at  dinner,  at  that  gentleman's  house.  The  subject  of  the  late 
Craddock  litigation  was  introduced,  in  the  presence  of  three  or 
four  of  the  city  authorities,  the  conversation  being  in  Spanish, 
in  order  that  they  might  bear  a  part. 

"  It  is  a  fine  estate,  that  of  the  Craddock's,  at  Regla,"  ob 
served  Mr.  Hornby,  to  one  of  the  Spanish  officers. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  person  addressed,  who  had  been 
schooled  in  the  affair  on  hand,  "you  were  the  executor,  I  be 
lieve,"  addressing  Sefior  Alvero. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  seiior. 

"  It  was  decided  in  favor  of  the  Craddocks,  after  a  long  course 
of  litigation,  I  believe,"  continued  his  interlocutor. 

"  Yes,"  again  replied  Seiior  Alvero. 


THE   SNARE   LAID.  321 

"  And  the  grand-daughter  of  the  old  gentleman  comes  into 
the  entire  property,  if  she  can  be  found,  I  understand?"  said 
Mr.  Hornby. 

"  Yes,  if  she  can  be  found,"  replied  Senor  Alvero  ;  "  but 
otherwise  it  goes  to  a  grandson,  who  is  now,  I  understand,  a 
student,  in  Kingston,  Jamaica." 

"  I  wonder  who  that  young  lady  was  that  old  Mr.  Craddock's 
son  brought  here  a  few  months  since  1  She  was  very  beautiful, 
I  have  heard  the  sefioritas  say,  although  he  kept  her  secluded 
from  the  society  of  her  own  sex,"  said  Mr.  Hornby. 

"  Yes,  and  then  decamped  with  her  so  suddenly,"  observed 
the  officer,  who  had  opened  the  conversation.  "  I  have  often 
thought  she  was  his  niece,  the  grandson  of  the  viejo.  Do  you 
know,  Senor  Alvero "?" 

The  Senor  by  this  time  appeared  to  suspect  that  he  was  be 
ing  led  into  some  trap.  He  returned  an  evasive  answer,  and 
the  conversation  took  another  turn,  and  towards  ten  o'clock, 
the  party  separated,  leaving  Mr.  Hornby,  Gerald  and  Senor 
Alvero,  alone. 

Then,  Mr.  Hornby  speaking  for  Gerald,  whose  ignorance  of 
the  Spanish  language  rendered  him  impotent  to  act  on  the  oc 
casion,  seriously  re-introduced  the  subject. 

"  You  have  promptly  replied  to  the  advertisement  I  caused 
to  be  inserted  in  the  Gazette,  Senor  Alvero,"  he  said,  "  You 
were  tha  executor  of  Mr.  Craddock,  and,  of  course,  are  ac 
quainted  with  the  contents  of  the  documents  in  question. 
Have  you  any  objection  to  state  their  nature  as  nearly  as  you 
can  recollect  ?  or,  perhaps  you  have  the  will  in  your  posses 
sion  r 

"  I  have  it  no  longer,  I  surrendered  it  to  Mr.  Craddock,  the 
son  of  the  testator,"  replied  Seiior  Alvero. 

c;  But  were  you  satisfied  that  he  was  the  legatee  ?"  inquired 
Mr.  Hornby. 

"  In  case  the  grand-daughter  of  the  testator  could  not  be  dis 
covered,  his  son  was,"  replied  Senor  Alvero. 


328  THE    WANDERER. 

"  But  are  you  satisfied  that  proper  and  sufficient  search  has 
been  made  for  the  rightful  heir  ?"  continued  Mr.  Hornby.  "  Do 
you  know  who  the  young  lady  was  who  was  lately  in  Cuba, 
residing  on  the  Regla  property  with  him,  whom  it  was  cur 
rently  reported,  he  wished  his  son — a  fine  young  man,  George 
Craddock — to  marry.  She  might  be  the  heiress  in  question." 

"  1  know  not  why  you  are  questioning  me  in  this  manner," 
said  Seiior  Alvero,  growing  angry.  "  The  heiress  could  not  be 
found  ;  the  son  of  Seiior  Craddock  was  the  next  heir  in  succes 
sion  ;  his  father  claimed  the  title,  and  I,  in  duty  bound,  sur 
rendered  the  will.  Is  this  all  that  was  required  of  me  by  the 
notice  that  appeared  in  the  Gazette  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  all,"  said  Mr.  Hornby.  "  We  demand  the 
privilege  of  reading  the  will,  in  behalf  of  Miss  Alice  Craddock, 
the  rightful  heiress,  whose  present  location  we  know,  and 
whom  wre  can  produce  when  the  occasion  demands  it." 

"  By  what  right  do  you  dare  to  question  me  thus  ?"  repeated 
Seiior  Alvero,  in  an  angry  tone  of  voice.  "I  have  told  you 
that  I  have  surrendered  the  will  to  Mr.  Craddock,  by  default, 
the  rightful  heir  not  appearing." 

"  We  have  a  right  which  you  will  soon  acknowledge,  Seiior," 
replied  Mr.  Hornby.  "  And  you  had  no  right  to  surrender 
your  executorship  over  the  estate  of  Mr.  Craddock,  as  we  can 
prove,  if  you  force  us  so  to  do  ;  but,  it  will  be  to  your  advan 
tage  to  act  honestly." 

"  You  threaten  me,"  returned  Seiior  Alvero.  "  I  shall  not 
reply." 

"  Seiior,"  said  Mr.  Hornby  ;  "  let  us  understand  each  other 
— you  recollect  that  you  confessed  to-night,  in  the  presence  of 
more  than  one  officer  of  the  Government,  that  Miss  Alice 
Thornton  was  the  rightful  heiress  to  the  estates  you  now  con 
fess  to  have  surrendered  to  Mr.  Craddock,  her  uncle.  We 
have  your  own  word  for  this  ;  reflect,  in  what  an  unfortunate 
position  you  will  be  placed,  if  we  are  compelled  again  to  resort 
to  law,  which  we  shall  assuredly  do,  if  we  cannot  otherwise 
obtain  satisfaction  ?" 


THE    WILL.  329 

Sefior  Alvero  remained  silent,  and  Mr.  Hornby  continued  : 
"  We  mean  you  no  harm,  Senor  Alvero  ;  you  have  doubtless 
been  the  dupe  of  Mr.  Oaddock.  It  is  your  duty  now  to  ex 
pose  the  fraud  of  which  I  have  no  doubt  he  has  been  guilty. 
Your  honesty  shall  be  rewarded,  and  all  that  is  passed  shall  be 
forgotten,  so  far  as*  it  concerns  you.  If  you  still  persist  in 
your  present  position,  we  shall  hold  you  guilty,  and  the  result 
will  be  your  own  fault." 

Senor  Alvero  began  to  perceive  that  his  deception  had  been 
brought  to  light  by  some  means  unknown  to  him.  The  fact 
that  he  was  in  the  dark  in  this  respect  increased  his  alarm — 
and  he  recollected  that  he  had  laid  himself  open  to  the  autho 
rities  by  his  incautious  remarks.  Again,  he  had  shrewdness 
enough  to  perceive  that  no  harm  was  intended  him,  if  he 
changed  his  tactics  and  supported  the  right  cause,  and,  after  a 
pause  of  some  duration,  he  confessed  that  he  had,  he  believed, 
been  misled  by  Mr.  Craddock's  representations,  and  that  he  be 
lieved  that  gentleman  had  sinister  motives  in  concealing  the 
existence  of  Alice. 

Mr.  Hornby  now  related  what  he  had  heard  from  Gerald 
concerning  Alice  Thornton,  and  said  that  she  was  in  France, 
and  could  and  would  be  produced  to  make  her  claim  good  to 
the  property  ;  "  and  now,"  he  added,  in  conclusion,  "  we  per 
fectly  understand  each  other.  You  have  not  given  up  the  ori 
ginal  will  '\  produce  it,  and  you  shall  find  it  to  your  interest  in 
the  end." 

Senor  Alvero  confessed  that  he  had  surrendered  only  a  copy 
of  the  will  to  -Mr.  Craddock,  taking  credit  to  himself  for  retain 
ing  the  original,  in  the  belief  that  Mr.  Craddock  was  deceiving 
him,  although,  he  observed,  he  made  so  good  a  claim  in  behalf 
of  his  son,  that  he  felt  himself  justified  in  acting  as  he  had  done. 

"  Then  the  original  will  we  shall  see  to-morrow,'5  said  Mr. 
Hornby. 

"  Not  to-morrow,  it  is  impossible.  It  is  in  my  strong  box, 
at  home,  at  St.  Eugenio ;  but  I  will  send  for  it  and  produce  it 
in  the  course  of  a  few  days."  < 


330  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Be  it  so,  then,"  said  Mr.  Hornby.  "  Recollect,"  he  added, 
in  a  stern  tone  of  voice,  "  we  understand  each  other,  and  Ishall 
allow  of  no  further  subterfuge." 

"  De  muy  buena  gana"  (with  all  my  heart.)  returned  Senor 
Alvero,  as  bidding  his  host  good  night,  he  prepared  to  return 
to  his  hotel. 

"  We  have  managed  this  affair  skilfully,  Mr.  Dalton,"  said 
Mr.  Hornby,  when  Senor  Alvero  had  departed.  "  I  have  no 
doubt  whatever,  that  this  fellow  has  been  perfectly  cognizant 
all  throughout  of  a  fraud  having  been  perpetrated  in  this  case  ; 
but  it  is  as  well  to  humor  him,  and  profess  ignorance,  while,  at 
the  same  time  we  hold  a  proper  check  over  him.  However,  I 
congratulate  you  upon  your  success,  and  have  no  doubt  that 
you  will  perfectly  succeed  in  your  undertaking." 

Senor  Alvero  knew  that  he  was  watched  by  the  police,  and 
on  the  appointed  day  he  was  faithful  to  his  word.  The  original 
will  arrived  from  St.  Eugenio,  and  was  produced  and  read  by 
Gerald  and  Mr.  Hornby.  The  fraudulent  intentions  of  Mr. 
Craddock  were  at  once  made  manifest.  He  had  stated  the 
contents  falsely  to  Alice.  The  estates  of  the  late  Mr.  Crad 
dock  were  left  to  her  as  the  sole  heiress,  only  in  case  of  her 
death  to  descend  to  the  heirs  of  MI'.  Craddock.  Knowing  that 
she  was  living,  he  had  endeavored  to  promote  a  marriage  with 
his  son,  in  order  that  the  ownership  of  the  property  might  de 
volve  upon  himself,  or  his  own  family. 

Gerald  demanded  and  obtained  a  fail  copy  of  the  will,  legally 
executed  and  properly  attested  in  court,  and  armed,  as  he  was, 
with  full  power  to  overthrow  the  falsehood  and  wrong  perpe 
trated  by  Mr.  Craddock,  lost  no  time  in  returning  to  England. 

He  learnt  from  Mr.  Pearce,  on  arriving  at  Herrington,  that 
another  letter  had  been  received  from  Armand.  Minette  had 
made  the  cause  of  Alice  her  own  ;  and  what  will  an  intriguing 
French  woman  not  accomplish,  when  her  heart  is  set  upon 
gaining  some  end1?  By  some  means  or  other,  Minette  had 
managed  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of  all  that  was  passing  in  the 


THE    RESOLVE.  331 

convent  at  Orleans,  and  had  set  Armand  to  track  Mr.  Crad- 
dock's  every  movement  in  Paris.  He  had  written,  to  inform 
Mr.  Pearce,  that  Ma'mselle  Alice's  term  of  probation  had 
nearly  expired,  and  that  Minette  feared,  that  unless  relief  were 
afforded,  she  would  soon  be  compelled  to  take  the  veil,  and  be 
forever  secluded  in  the  convent.  The  original  three  months 
test  promised  by  Mr.  Craddock  had  been  long  extended,  but 
his  patience  appeared  to  be  wearied  at  last,  and  he,  himself,  was 
intending  to  leave  Paris  for  Havana,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
weeks. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  The  letter  had  already  been 
a  week  in  the  possession  of  the  vicar,  and  yet  there  existed 
much  difficulty  in  managing  the  affair. 

A  bold  course  was  the  only  one-  to  pursue,  and  Gerald,  ac 
companied  by  Doctor  Knight,  immediately  set  out  for  the 
French  capital,  resolved  to  seek  out  Armand,  and  from  him 
discover  where  Mr.  Craddock  wras  to  be  found,  and  confronting 
him,  to  boldly  prove  his  falsehood,  and  demand  from  him,  as 
the  only  price  of  secrecy,  the  instant  release  of  Alice,  and  the 
restoration  of  her  rights. 

Gerald  had  Armand's  address  in  the  Quartier  St.  Antoine, 
and  the  young  man  was  soon  found,  seated  at  his  easel,  busily 
occupied  in  painting,  while  Minette  was  employed  in  setting 
his  studio  (which  comprised  bedroom  and  parlor,  and  all)  in 
neat  array. 

She  blushed  and  withdrew  when  the  strangers  entered,  and 
Armand  explained  that  though,  as  yet,  she  was  not  his  wife, 
she  was  good  enough  to  come  every  day  and  perform  the  same 
kind  office.  He  expressed  a  perfect  willingness  to  show  his 
visitors  where  Mr.  Craddock  could  be  found,  and,  in  reply  to 
an  expression  of  curiosity  on  the  part  of  Dr.  Knight,  how 
Minette  could  obtain  such  correct  information  regarding  what 
occurred  in  the  seclusion  of  the  convent,  he  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders,  and  replied — "  Mai  foi!  Nothing  is  impossible  to  a 
woman.  She  has  made  friends  writh  the  porteress  and  obtains 


332  THE   WANDERER. 

it  from  her ;  but  how,  I  cannot  say.  She  keeps  her  plans  a 
secret  from  me,  except  when  she  dictates  what  I  shall  write  ; 
Mais  (liable  !  Messieurs,  I  wish  this  matter  were  settled  satis 
factorily,  for,  until  it  is,  the  little  coquine  swears  she  will  not 
marry  me." 

Mr.  Craddock  resided  at  an  hotel  in  the  Rue  Richelieu,  and 
thither,  guided  by  Armand,  the  travellers  proceeded,  and  re 
quested  the  commissionaire  to  direct  them  to  his  rooms,  and  to 
announce  the  arrival  of  two  gentlemen  from  England. 

They  were  readily  admitted,  although  Mr.  Craddock's  coun 
tenance  expressed  considerable  disgust  and  suspicion.  How 
ever,  he  requested  them  to  be  seated,  and  asked  the  nature  of 
their  business  with  him. 

"  My  name  is  Gerald  Dalton,"  said  Gerald,  frankly,  "  and 
we  have  called  to  make  inquiries  respecting  Alice  Thornton." 

"  And  pray,  young  sir,7'  said  Mr.  Craddock.  "  What  is  your 
business  with  Miss  Thornton,  or  if  you  have  business  with  her, 
what  reason  have  you  to  imagine  that  I  know  where  she  may 
be?" 

The  cool  effrontery  of  this  reply,  temporarily  disconcerted 
the  young  man,  while  Dr.  Knight  listened  with  perfect  aston 
ishment  ;  but  Gerald  quickly  recovered  himself,  and  replied  : 

"  This  gentleman  and  1,  and  others  in  England  and  elsewhere, 
have  ample  evidence  to  prove  that  you  abducted  the  young 
lady  from  England,  and  have  since  retained  her  almost  a  close 
prisoner." 

"  And  if  I  have,"  said  Mr.  Craddock,  ';  who  dares  gainsay 
my  right  to  do  so  ?  Am  I  not  her  uncle ;  her  only  living  re 
lative,  with  the  exception  of  my  son,  her  cousin,  and,  conse- 
sequently,  her  natural  guardian?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Gerald,  "  that  the  fact  of  your 
being  her  uncle,  gives  you  the  right  to  take  her  forciby  from 
the  guardian  to  whose  care  she  was  entrusted  by  her  father  on 
his  death-bed,  or  from  those  to  whom  he  transferred  his  guar 
dianship  when  about  to  leave  England.  It  is  for  the  law  to 


THE   ACCUSATIONS.  333 

V 

settle  that,  and  also  to  test  your  right  to  property  which  be 
longs  to  her,  by  her  grandfather's  will." 

"  Ha!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Craddock,  "you  are  bold,  young  sir; 
pray,  what  do  ybu  know  of  a  will,  and  who  gave  you  or  your 
friends  the  right  to  pry  into  matters  that  do  not  concern  you  ?" 

"  We  shall  see,"  returned  Gerald,  making  a  preconcerted 
signal  for  Armand  to  enter. 

"  Who  is  this  fellow  that  is  engaged  with  you  in  this 
trumped-up  conspiracy  to  obtain  money  from  me,  no  doubt  f' 
said  Mr  Craddock,  sarcastically,  glancing  contemptuously  at 
the  paint-soiled  blouse  and  untrimrned  beard  of  the  artist. 

"  I  will  shortly  explain,  Monsieur,"  replied  Armand,  exas 
perated  at  this  taunt.  "  Monsieur  recollects,  perhaps,  Ma'rn- 
selle  Minette,  who  was  waiting-maid  to  Miss  Alice,  in  Cuba. 
She  was  curtly  and  rudely  dismissed  from  the  service  of  Ma 
dame  Alice,  by  Monsieur,  on  his  return  to  Paris,  when  Madame 
was  sent  to  be  immured  in  a  convent.  Ha !  Ma'mselle  Mi 
nette  swrore  revenge — and  a  French  soubrette  knows  how  to 
obtain  it.  I  have  letters  here  to  prove  all  I  have  asserted." 

Excited  to  passion  that  he  could  no  longer  control,  Mr. 
Craddock  rose  from  his  seat  and  was  about  to  rush  upon  Ar 
mand.  and  expel  him  from  the  room,  when  he  was  interrupted 
by  Gerald,  who  said  : 

"  Calm  yourself  and  control  your  temper,  Mr.  Craddock, 
you  are  the  uncle  of  Alice,  and  for  her  sake  no  harm  shall  be- 
fal  you,  if  you  will  render  her  the  justice  that  is  due.  Nay, 

do  not  threaten "  (Mr.  Craddock  had  commenced  to  reply, 

in  a  blustering,  threatening  tone.)  "  There  is  a  certain  will  in 
the  custody  of  Sefior  Alvero  of  Havana,  the  executor  of  the 
estate  of  the  late  Mr.  Craddock — of  which  I  have  in  my  posses 
sion  a  faithful  copy,  sworn  to  and  attested  in  the  Cuban  Courts 
— which  has  been  wrongfully  taken  possession  of  by  you  and 
of  which  you  have  made  a  fraudulent  use.  I  have  just  return 
ed  from  Havana,  whither  I  went  with  the  express  object  of  dis 
covering  the  frauds  that  I  and  others  learnt  through  Alice's 


334  THE    WANDERER. 

waiting-maid,  Minette,  and  this  young  man,  had  been  practiced 
upon  the  young  lady,  by  you,  her  self-constituted  guardian.  I 
have  learnt  that  which  would  consign  you  to  prison  for  life ; 
but  release  Alice  from  the  Convent,  and  forego  your  unjust 
claims,  and,  for  her  sake,  I  will  be  forever  silent  on  this  sub 
ject." 

Mr.  Craddock  had  changed  color  several  times  while  Gerald 
was  speaking,  with  mingled  rage  and  fear ;  but,  he  felt  that  the 
young  man  was  speaking  the  truth  in  regard  to  the  investiga 
tions  he  had  made,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  a 
heinous  crime.  He  calmed  his  passion  and  said  : 

"  I  confess  that  I  have  done  wrong  ;  but  my  original  object 
wras  to  benefit  my  niece,  but  the  vengeance  of  Providence 
has  overtaken  me.  I  was  about  to  return  to  Cuba.  I 
shall  now  go  to  India.  I  will  send  to  the  Superior  of 
the  convent  and  give  orders  for  the  release  of  Alice,  and  shall 
then  quit  the  country  never  to  return." 

"  That  is  all  that  I  ask,"  replied  Gerald ;  but  Dr.  Knight, 
who  had  not  yet  spoken,  now  interposed. 

"  This  must  be  done  immediately,  or  we  shall  take  other 
measures — " 

"I  will  write  now,"  said  Mr.  Craddock,  thoroughly  subdued, 
and  in  the  presence  of  his  visitors  he  wrote  the  letter,  giving 
it  to  them  unsealed. 

"  That  is  sufficient,"  said  Gerald,  after  reading  it.  "  Mr. 
Craddock,  I  wish  you  good  day,"  and  accompanied  by  the 
young  Frenchman,  the  doctor  and  Gerald  quitted  the  hotel, 
and  that  evening  set  out  for  Orleans,  where  the  letter  was  pre 
sented  at  the  convent,  and  within  an  hour  Alice  Thornton  was 
freed  from  her  restraint  and  heartily  congratulated  by  Dr. 
Knight  and  Gerald. 

The  poor  girl,  who  had  so  long  considered  her  escape  hope 
less,  was  overpowered  with  joy  and  gratitude.  As  soon  as 
the  first  transports  of  her  delight  were  over,  she  inquired  after 
her  former  friends,  Mrs.  Dalton,  the  Ashley's,  and  the  vicar, 


THE    RETURN".  335 

nor  was  old  Jemmy  Milton  forgotten.  She  was  deeply  affect 
ed  on  hearing  from  Gerald  of  the  death  of  his  mother ;  but  her 
joy  at  escaping  from  the  convent  was  so  great,  that  she  soon 
dried  the  tears  she  shed  on  hearing  of  the  decease  of  her  second 
mother,  as  she  styled  Mrs.  Dalton. 

She  had  a  thousand  questions  to  ask  and  a  thousand  to  reply 
to,  and  the  relation  of  all  that  had  befallen  each  since  they  had 
bid  each  other  farewell  in  Harrington,  was  matter  for  conver 
sation  until  they  landed  at  Dover,  to  which  place  they  travelled 
with  all  possible  rapidity,  and  there  hiring  a  carriage  found 
themselves  in  the  course  of  two  hours  at  the  entrance  to  the 
vicarage  of  Herrington. 


336  THE    WANDEREK. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

In  which  the  reader  is  conducted  over  a  good  deal  of  ground,  and  in  which 
Love,  Courtship  and  Matrimony  arc  all  introduced.  Some  readers  may 
think  better  late  than  never. 

THE  newly  arrived  party  were  warmly  welcomed  by  the 
vicar  who  had  seen  the  chaise  corning  up  the  lane  which  led  to 
the  vicarage.  Alice,  especially,  although  he  declared  that  he 
could  scarcely  recognize  her  as  the  same  little  Alice  whom  he 
had  so  often  met  on  the  beach  or  on  the  path  which  led  along 
the  cliffs,  was  congratulated  upon  her  happy  return  and  on  the 
good  fortune  that  awaited  her  in  Cuba.  "  Although,"  said  the 
vicar  with  a  sly  smile,  for  the  good  man  liked  a  joke  now  and 
then,  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  are  looking  forward  with 
greater  pleasure  to  the  consummation  of  a  still  greater  happi 
ness,  eh,  Gerald  V  addressing  the  you^ig  man,  "  What  do  you 
think  T' 

Gerald  smiled  and  looked  fondly  at  Alice,  and  Alice  cast 
down  her  eyes,  almost  shrouding  them  beneath  their  long  dark 
fringes,  and  blushed,  and  so  replied  to  the  vicar's  query  in  the 
most  satisfactory  manner. 

A  few  days  were  passed  pleasantly  enough  in  visiting  old 
friends  in  Herrington,  Jemmy  Milton,  to  be  sure,  not  being  for 
gotten.  The  old  man  was  rejoiced  to  see  her  again,  and  made 
her  sit  down  in  the  boathouse  and  recount  to  him  all  that  had 
happened  to  her  since  her  abrupt  departure  from  Herrington. 

"  It  does  me  good,"  he  said,  "  to  hear  your  sweet  voice  agin, 
Miss  Alice.  It  is  a  cheersome  sound  to  my  old  ears.  It  is 
like  the  south  wind  blowing  softly  through  a  ship's  cordage 
after  a  blustering  nor'wester,  and  wafting  the  good  ship  home 
ward,  and  recalling  to  mind  the  memory  of  those  we  left  be- 


COURTSHIP.  337 

hind  us,  and  who  we  hope  are  waiting  to  welcome  our  return. 
So  your  voice,  Miss  Alice,  minds  me  of  old  times  when  you 
and  Gerald  were  boy  and  girl,  and  I  was  not  so  old  and  stiff 
as  I  have  become  during  the  year  or  two  past." 

The  old  man,  too,  hazarded  his  jokes  upon  the  future 
union  of  the  young  couple.  He  insisted  upon  purchasing  a 
valuable  necklace  for  Alice,  which  he  made  her  promise  to 
wear  on  the  day  of  her  wedding,  which  he  very  shrewdly  took 
for  a  settled  affair,  and  would  have  insisted  upon  Alice's  being 
measured  at  a  jeweller's  for  a  wedding  ring,  only  Gerald,  to 
whom  he  communicated  his  intentions,  managed  after  much 
difficulty  to  persuade  him  that  that  would  not  be  exactly  the 
thing. 

They  wrere  very  happy  wandering  together  over  the  cliffs, 
or  on  the  beach,  Alice  and  Gerald  ;  but  the  latter  felt  that  he 
had  duties  to  perform,  and  he  was  at  last  fain  to  leave  her  for 
a  time  to  the  care  of  the  vicar,  while  he  paid  a  visit  to  Abbotts- 
ford  and  to  London. 

Mr.  Pearce  and  he  had  held  several  private  conversations 
together.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  he  had  informed  the  vicar 
that  he  had  obtained  Alice's  consent  to  their  speedy  union,  and 
the  conversation  had  turned  upon  their  future  prospects. 

"  It  is  my  intention  to  reside  in  the  United  States,"  said 
Gerald,  in  reply  to  a  question  put  to  him  by  the  vicar.  "  I 
have  intimated  this  to  Alice,  and  she  is  willing  to  go  with  me 
thither ;  and  it  will  be  necessary  that  we  both  go  to  Cuba  and 
arrange  matters  relating  to  the  property  belonging  to  her  ou 
that  island." 

"  You  are  doubly  fortunate,  Gerald,"  replied  the  vicar,  "  in 
finding  Alice  to  be  an  heiress.'' 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  said  Gerald.  "  Indeed,  it  would  be  folly 
for  me  to  pretend  otherwise  ;  but,  although  I  still  feel  a  deli 
cacy  with  respect  to  that  legacy  of  Jemrny  Milton's,  I  should 
have  felt  unpleasantly  in  marrying  Alice,  poor  as  I  would 
otherwise  be." 
15 


338  THE    WANDEREK. 

"  That  would  be  false  delicacy,  my  young  friend,"  replied 
the  vicar,  "if  you  love  each  other.  You  have  health  and 
strength,  and  the  ability  to  earn  your  own  living  j  besides,  you 
intend  to  go  to  America.  It  is  not  improbable  that  the  estate 
1  have  heard  your  mother  speak  of  may  be  of  value." 

"  A  mere  chimera,  I  fear,"  replied  Gerald.  "  I  have  heard 
something  about  it  through  a  letter  I  received  in  India  from 
my  poor  mother  •  but  I  could  not  properly  undei stand  the  sub 
ject.  However,  I  shall  of  course  make  proper  inquiry  when 
I  reach  the  United  States." 

"  You  say  you  are  going  to  set  out  for  Abbottsford  the  day 
after  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Yes  sir,  and  I  shall  visit  London  and  see  Mr.  Hoffmann 
before  I  return  to  Abbottsford." 

"  Of  course  Alice  will  remain  here  with  me  the  while  ?" 

"  I  was  going  to  propose  that,  sir,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  thank 
you  for  the  offer.  Alice  is  like  a  sister  to  me  now.  She  has 
no  other  protector,  and  yet  I  could  not  well  have  taken  her  to 
Abbottsford  ;  besides,  I  wish  to  go  there  alone." 

On  the  day  mentioned,  the  young  man  bade  Alice  a  tempo 
rary  good-by,  and  set  out  for  the  village  in  Northamptonshire 
where  his  mother  had  died.  Notwithstanding  the  happy  pros 
pects  that  were  now  opened  to  him,  the  young  man  felt  sad 
and  melancholy  during  the  progress  of  this  journey.  He  re 
called  to  mind  the  last  time  he  had  travelled  over  that  road — 
then  he  was  accompanying  his  mother  to  her  new  abode — and 
how  many  times  since,  aye,  even  when  in  India,  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  remain  for  some  time  abroad,  he  had  pictured 
to  himself  the  time  when  he  should  return  and  pass  along  that 
same  road  with  a  buoyant  heart,  eager  to  meet  her  again.  He 
had  never  thought  that  the  next  time  he  travelled  that  road,  it 
would  be  to  visit  his  mother's  grave. 

The  little  quiet  village  was  reached  after  two  days'  travel, 
and  when  he  alighted  at  the  "  ride-away,"  as  the  lane  was 
called  which  led  to  the  village,  for  Abbottsford  did  not  stand 


THE    DEATH-BED.  339 

on  the  high  road,  he  recalled  the  vivid  impression  of  his  dream, 
when  he  had  in  fancy  passed  along  this  lane  listening  to  the  toll' 
ing  of  the  village  church  bell  which  announced  his  mother's 
death,  and  her  funeral.  But  the  bell  was  not  tolling  now,  al 
though,  as  in  the  dream,  the  leaves  were  green  upon  the  trees, 
and  the  sunbeams  were  shining  brightly  on  the  green  sward, 
and  the  cattle  were  lazily  Deposing  in  the  shade,  and  the  birds 
were  warbling  sweetly  amidst  the  branches  and  in  the  hedge 
rows. 

In  half  an  hour's  walk  he  had  reached  the  parsonage,  where 
he  intended  to  call  and  introduce  himself  to  Mr.  Davis,  the 
rector. 

He  found  that  gentleman  at  home,  and  on  hearing  the  errand 
upon  which  the  young  man  had  come,  the  clergyman  kindly 
welcomed  him  to  the  village. 

Refreshments  were  placed  before  him,  and  after  he  had  par 
taken  of  them,  the  rector  related  to  him  many  circumstances 
attending  his  mother's  death. 

"  She  was  very  anxious  about  you  for  a  long  time  before 
her  last  illness,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  and  looked  eagerly  for 
a  letter  by  every  mail  that  arrived  from  India.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  look  of  anxiety  she  gave  me  when  I  entered  her 
chamber  bearing  with  me  the  letter  I  had  but  a  few  moments 
before  received,  nor  the  eagerness  with  which  she  stretched  out 
her  wasted  hand  to  receive  the  prize.  She  was  too  feeble  to 
read  it ;  her  eye-sight  had  already  failed  her ;  but,  I  read  the 
letter  aloud,  close  to  her  ear,  and  her  countenance  changed  to 
an  expression  so  happy,  so  thankful,  that  health  appeared  sud 
denly  to  have  been  restored  to  her  ;  but  she  soon  relapsed 
into  a  state  of  unconsciousness  from  which  she  never  perfectly 
revived,  although  the  happy  expression  rested  upon  her  features 
to  the  last.  She  held  the  letter  I  had  given  into  her  hand 
after  reading  it,  closely  clasped  to  her  bosom — and  I  have  no 
doubt,  her  last  earthly  thoughts  wrere  of  you.  Only  a  few 
moments  before  her  death,  rousing  herself  as  if  from  a  stupor, 


340  THE    WANDERER. 

she  asked  me  to  kneel  and  pray — to  let  her  hear  me  pray  for 
you — she  wished  to  die,  she  feebly  whispered  while  that  prayer 
was  passing  from  my  lips,  and  so  she  died.  She  spoke  but 
once  again  and  these  last  words  were,  "  Remember,  Gerald, 
remember  !"  The  right  hand  was  outstretched  and  the  finger 
pointed  as  if  in  warning,  and  so  it  remained,  stiffened  in  death, 
after  the  breath  had  passed  from  her.  It  was  with  difficulty 
we  could  relax  its  rigidity ;  the  letter  she  clasped  so  closely 
to  her  bosom,  we  buried  with  her.  She  was  followed  to  the 
grave  by  a  great  number  of  the  villagers  and  all  the  school 
children,  and  deeply  and  sincerely  lamented  by  all  who  had 
known  her.  What  little  property  she  died  possessed  of  I  hold 
in  trust  for  you.  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Pearce,  stating  many  of  these 
facts,  and,  I  presume,  you  have  heard  them  from  him  ;  but,  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  mournful  gratification  to  you  to  listen  to 
them  from  the  lips  of  one  who  watched  her  last  moments,  and 
closed  her  eyes  in  death." 

Gerald  was  much  affected  during  this  recital ;  and  Mr. 
Davis  perceiving  his  emotion,  remained  for  some  time  silent. 
At  length  he  inquired  whether  he  should  conduct  the  young 
man  to  the  secluded  spot  in  the  church-yard  where  his  mother's 
grave  was  situated  ;  "  A  simple  mound  of  turf  marks  the 
spot,"  he  added,  "  I  would  gladly  have  erected  a  tomb-stone 
at  the  head  of  the  grave,  but  I  thought  it  better  to  leave  that 
mournful  duty  to  you,  for  I  anticipated  your  speedy  return, 
wrhen  you  should  hear  the  sad  intelligence." 

"If  you  will  describe  the  spot  to  me,  I  will  thank  you,"  re 
plied  Gerald  ;  "  but  I  would  rather  visit  the  grave  alone." 
"  You  can  see  the  spot  but  not  the  mound  itself,  from  my  study 
window,"  said  the  rector,  rising  and  advancing  towards  a  low 
window  which  looked  out  upon  a  neat  lawn  overspread  with 
ornamental  shrubs,  and  from  which  the  church-yard  could  be 
seen  beyond  ;  the  group  of  horse-chestnuts  with  the  tall,  slen 
der  pointed  spire,  peeping  out  above  the  dark  green  foliage 
forming  a  beautiful  and  a  fitting  background  to  the  prospect. 


THE    CHURCH-YARD.  341 

"  You  see  that  clump  of  yew  and  cedars  of  Lebanon,  there 
to  the  right,  just  beyond  where  the  chestnut  trees  grow  thick 
est,"  said  he,  directing  Gerald's  attention  to  the  spot  with  his 
outstretched  finger.  "  It  is  there  beyond  the  largest  yew. 
The  mound  is  right  beneath  its  shade.  You  cannot  mistake  it, 
for  it  is  the  only  grave  there.  The  spot  was  chosen  by  your 
mother  on  her  death-bed.  She  was  fond  of  walking  in  the 
church-yard  sometimes,  and,  there  used  to  be  a  rustic  seat 
there  where  she  would  sit  in  the  summer  evenings  and  read. 
That  is  removed  now  and  the  grave-mound  marks  the  exact 
spot  where  it  stood." 

Gerald  thanked  the  clergyman,  and  saying  he  had  no  doubt 
he  would  readily  find  the  spot  he  was  in  search  of,  he  took  his 
hat  and  went  on  his  melancholy  quest. 

The  grave  was  found  with  ease — and  there  seated  on  the 
green  mound  where  his  mother  had  spent  so  many  hours,  he 
remained  until  twilight  came  on,  and  the  rector  growing  anx 
ious  in  consequence  of  his  non-appearance,  went  in  search  of 
him,  and  invited  him  to  return  to  the  house. 

What  were  the  young  man's  thoughts  during  these  hours  of 
meditation — perhaps,  of  prayer,  he  never  disclosed. 

He  remained  at  Abbottsford  a  week — and,  at  the  expiration 
of  that  period,  a  tomb-stone  that  had  been  ordered  the  day 
after  his  arrival,  from  the  neighboring  town,  was  brought  to 
the  village  and  planted  above  the  lowly  grave.  It  was  a  tomb 
stone  neat  arid  plain,  as  befitted  the  secluded  country  church 
yard — and  fashioned  out  of  the  purest  white  marble  that  could 
be  procured — fitting  emblem  as  the  young  man  thought,  of  the 
virtues  of  her  whose  humble  sepulchre  it  adorned. 

It  was  a  bright  summer's  morning  when  the  tombstone  was 
fixed  at  the  head  of  the  grass-grown  mound  above  the  grave. 
Daisies  and  butter-cups  and  cowslips  covered  the  sod,  and  grew 
thickly  around  the  spot,  in  whose  petals  yet  glistened  the  dia 
mond  drops  of  morning  dew ;  and  as  Gerald  gazed  upon  these 
flowers  springing  up  from  the  rich  dank  earth  of  the  graveyard, 


342  THE    WANDERER. 

he  thought  they  blossomed  as  a  lively  token  to  man,  that  out 
of  corruption  shall  spring  immortality,  and  that  death  is  but 
the  portal  to  a  brighter  and  an  eternal  life. 

A  single  plain  inscription  was  traced  upon  the  smooth  white 
surface  of  the  marble.     It  was  this  : — 

"SACRED 

TO 
THE    MEMORY 

OF 


The  day  following  that  on  which  the  tombstone  had  been 
placed  in  its  position,  Gerald  bade  farewell  to  the  friendly  rec 
tor,  and  took  his  departure  for  London,  where  he  visited  the 
old  well-remembered  store  in  Broad  Street,  Bloomsbury,  and 
saw  Mr.  Hoffmann.  The  old  gentleman  received  him  with 
kindness,  and  expressed  regret  for  the  harshness  of  his  conduct. 

The  young  man,  at  another  time,  might  have  received  this 
acknowledgment  with  some  show  of  the  pride  and  hauteur  pe 
culiar  to  his  disposition  ;  but  he  had  just  returned  from  a  scene 
calculated  to  chasten  his  spirit,  and  to  subdue  his  pride  and 
obstinacy  of  character.  He  accepted  the  proffered  hand  of  the 
really  honest,  good-hearted  old  auctioneer,  and  expressed  regret 
in  his  turn  for  the  petulance  of  his  conduct  and  the  flippant 
tone  of  the  letters  he  had  written  announcing  his  failure. 

"  We]],  well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  we  were  all  wrong — 
we  all  failed  in  some  degree  in  that  patience  and  proper  regard 
for  the  feelings  of  each  other,  which  is  one  of  the  chief  duties 
of  man.  We  were  a  pack  of  old  noodles  too — I  see  it  now — 
to  send  out  such  a  pack  of  trumpery  ;  and  Gerald,  I  think  you 
were  a  little  hasty  in  getting  rid  of  it." 

"  The  loss  you  sustained,  if  ever  I  am  able  to  do  so,  I  will 
repay  you,  each  and  all,"  said  Gerald. 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Mr.  Hoffmann — "  no  need  for  that — no 
need  for  that,  you  suffered  loss,  too  ;  of  course  you  did  ;  and 


VISIT   TO    LONDON.  343 

we  were  able  to  lose  the  money,  though  it  troubled  us  some  at 
the  time,  but  it  didn't  ruin  us,  Gerald — it  didn't  ruin  us,"  and 
the  old  gentleman  chuckled  at  the  thought,  probably,  of  the 
comfortable  condition  of  his  finances ;  but  Gerald  insisted  that 
if  ever,  it  should  be  in  his  power,  he  would  refund  the  money 
lost,  and  the  old  gentleman  ended  the  dispute,  by  saying : — 

"  Well,  well— pay  it,  if  you  insist  upon  it ;  we  shan't  refuse 
the  money,  I  dare  say  ;  but  don't  consider  it  a  debt  until  you 
are  able  to  repay  it.  What,  by  the  way,  are  you  going  to  do 
with  yourself,  now  ?" 

" 1  am  shortly  going  to  the  United  States,"  replied  the  young 
man.  "  You  know  New  York  is  my  native  place,  and  I  have 
resolved  to  visit  it  again,  with  the  intention  of  making  it,  or 
rather  with  making  some  part  of  the  country,  my  future  home. 
My  mother  is  dead,"  "he  added,  in  a  saddened  tone  of  voice, 
"  and  I  have  no  particular  tie  to  bind  me  to  England." 

"  Aye,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  I  heard  of  your  mother's 
death  while  you  were  abroad,  and  though  I  was  not  acquainted 
with  her,  I  was  much  grieved ;  but  as  you  are  going  abroad 
again,  suppose  we  were  to  make  up  a  venture1?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  replied  Gerald,  laughing,  "I  should  think 
you  have  had  enough  of  that — I  have,  at  all  events." 

"Well,  then,  dine  with  us  to-day,  and  spend  the  evening; 
the  old  lady  '11  find  you  a  spare  bed  somewhere." 

"  I  will  accept  your  invitation  to  dinner,"  returned  the  young 
man,  "but  I  cannot  remain  during  the  evening;  I  have  much 
yet  to  do  in  London,  considering  the  time  I  have  to  do  it  in, 
for  I  intend  to  set  out,  on  my  return  to  Herrington,  to-morrow 
night." 

"  As  you  please,"  replied  Mr.  Hoffmann.  "  If  you  feel  it  to 
be  your  duty,  it  is  quite  right  for  you  to  refuse,  and  so  manage 
your  business  as  to  be  ready  to  return  home  at  the  appointed 
time." 

Gerald  dined  with  his  former  employer;  and  during  that 
evening  and  the  following  morning,  transacted  what  business 


344  THE   WANDERER, 

he  had  to  do,  which  was  very  little  after  all ;  and  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening  was  seated  in  the  stage,  and  on  his  way  back  to 
Herrington,  and  to  Alice. 

Soon  after  his  return  there  were  evident  signs  of  the  ap 
proach  of  some  grand  event.  The  quiet  vicarage  was  almost 
turned  inside  out.  Perhaps  never  had  such  strange  doings 
been  enacted  there  before.  Such  bales  of  muslin,  and  parcels 
of  silk  and  satin,  and  such  a  passing  to  from  the  house  of 
the  tidy,  smart-looking  dressmakers  and  milliners,  and  the 
housekeeper  was  so  busy  and  assumed  such  an  air  of  import 
ance,  that  people  began  to  wonder  what  could  be  the  matter 
at  the  vicarage,  and  to  imagine  all  kinds  of  strange  and  silly 
things.  "  The  vicar  is  going  to  marry  his  housekeeper,  I'se 
warrant,"  said  the  old  dames  of  the  towrn  over  their  bohea. 
"  Marry  come  up  with  her  for  a  stuck  up  thing.  Why  I've 
suspicioned  it  for  a  long  time,  such  ogling  in  church,  and  he  a 
clargy,  too,  and  she  an  old  maid,  and  as  to  good  looks,  I'd  be 
ashamed  if  I  warn't  no  better  lookin'  nOr  she." 

And  "  Lawks  no  !  he,  he,  he  !  Becky  Sanford  good  looking  !" 
tittered  a  lot  of  old  dames  in  chorus,  "I'd  break  all  the  lookin' 
'glasses  I  came  across  if  I  were  as  ugly  as  Becky  Sandford." 

And  so  the  news  got  abroad  that  the  vicar  was  going  to  be 
married,  and  some  doubted  and  some  believed,  and  some  thought 
it  was  none  of  their  business  whether  he  got  married  or  not, 
and  others  though  it  ivas  their  business,  any  how. 

But  all  this  anxiety  was  set  at  rest  on  the  morning  of  the 
ensuing  Sabbath,  when  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pearce  publicly  published 
the  bans  of  marriage  between  Gerald  Dalton  and  Alice  Thorn 
ton,  both  of  Herrington,  in  the  county  of  Kent,  and  on  the 
third  Sunday  morning  from  this,  after  morning  service,  a 
young  man  with  pride  and  satisfaction  depicted  in  his  face, 
albeit,  a  slight  nervous  tremor  occasionally  betrayed  the  pre 
sence  of  some  unwonted  emotion,  and  a  young  lady  clad  in  pure 
white  and  fair  herself  as  the  white  garments  she  wore,  save 
where  the  roses  blushed  in  her  cheeks,  stood  at  the  altar  in 


HO!    FOR    THE    WEST.  345 

Herrington  church  and  were  united  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pearce 
in  the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony,  and  an  old  sailor  stood  near 
with  such  delight  expressed  in  his  visage,  that  every  moment 
a  looker  on  might  have  thought  that  he  was  about  to  give  it 
some  uproarious  expression.  The  old  sailor  gave  away  the 
bride  and  when  the  ceremony  was  over  imprinted  a  fatherly 
kiss  on  her  fair  cheek.  The  sailor  was  Jemmy  Milton,  and  it 
was  Gerald  Dalton  who  quitted  the  church  a  happy  husband, 
but  Alice  Thornton  returned  no  more.  A  fair  blushing  girl 
of  little  more  than  twenty  summers  rested  fondly  upon  the 
arm  of  the  young  man;  and  it  was  Alice  Thornton's  features 
arid  expression  that  she  wore,  but  it  was  not  she.  It  was  Alice 
Dalton — Gerald's  blooming  bride. 

They  set  out  for  a  brief  tour  through  France  on  the  follow 
ing  day,  and  while  in  Paris  visited  Armand  and  Minette  and 
found  them  happily  married. 

The  services  these  had  rendered  Alice  were  not  forgotten. 
They  had  formerly  been  rewarded  ;  but  now — Alice  having  suc 
ceeded  in  obtaining  from  the  lawyer  who  had  been  employed 
after  her  return  to  England  to  manage  any  intricacies  that 
might  disarrange  her  affairs,  permission  to  draw  for  what  mo 
ney  she  required — they  were  made  happy — quite  rich — they 
thought,  with  a  really  generous  present. 

After  a  two  months'  ramble,  the  young  couple  returned  to 
England,  and  immediately  commenced  preparations  for  the 
projected  voyage  to  America. 

The  island  of  Cuba  was  their  first  destination,  Gerald  and 
indeed  Alice  likewise  being  anxious  to  have  all  matters  connect 
ed  with  the  Cuban  estates  properly  settled,  and  they  were 
soon  ready  for  the  voyage. 

The  vessel  on  board  of  which  their  passage  was  engaged  was 
to  sail  from  Liverpool,  and  to  that  port  they  set  out  to  join  her, 
after  having  bid  adieu  to  their  friends,  and  promised  to  write 
and  let  them  know  how  they  prospered  in  the  New  World. 

Three  months  from  the  date  of  their  marriage,  Gerald  and 
Alice  were  on  their  wav  to  the  West  Indies. 


346  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

Which  treats  of  various  matters,  showing  how  Gerald  and  Alice  visited  Cu 
ba,  and  arranged  mutters  to  their  own  satisfaction,  and  afterwards  went  to 
New  York,  where  Gerald  met  with  some  old  acquaintances  in  name.  How 
he  visited  Ohio,  and  returned  to  New  York,  leaving  matters  in  abeyance 
which  the  next  and  concluding  chapter  will  set  to  rights. 

THE  Minerva  brig,  on  board  which  Gerald  and  his  young 
wife  had  sailed  for  Havana,  arrived  duly  in  port,  after  having 
made  an  ordinary  passage  out.  Letters  had  been  dispatched 
beforehand  to  announce  their  coming,  and  Mr.  Hornby,  whose 
friendship  had  been  so  serviceable  to  Gerald  on  the  occasion 
of  his  former  visit,  received  them  at  his  house  with  true  West 
Indian  hospitality.  They  found  no  difficulty  now  in  proving  old 
Mr.  Craddock's  will.  Senor  Alvero  was  all  smiles  and  obse 
quiousness,  and  Mr.  Hornby  was  perfectly  conversant 
with  the  method  whereby  the  Cuban  authorities,  who  might 
have  opposed  the  succession,  or  at  least  caused  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  and  thrown  obstacles  in  the  way,  could  be  managed 
so  as  to  be  led  with  the  utmost  docility,  so  the  matter  was  easily 
settled  with  the  assistance  of  a  few  golden  compliments,  and 
Alice  was  put  in  possession  of  the  title  deeds  of  the  Craddock 
estates  without  any  opposition  being  made,  and  as  both  she 
and  her  husband  were,  of  course,  ignorant  of  the  management  of 
a  West  Indian  plantation,  Senor  Alvero  who,  ladrone  as  he 
was,  was  quite  as  trustworthy  as  most  of  his  class,  was,  at 
Mr.  Hornby's  suggestion,  retained  in  the  position  of  overseer, 
to  which  he  had  been  appointed  by  Mr  Craddock. 

Alice's  cousin  George,  who  was  still  in  Jamaica,  heard  through 


VISIT    FROM    GEORGE    CRADDOCK.  347" 

the  newspapers  of  llie  arrival  of  Gerald  and  Alice  at  Havana, 
and  also  of  the  circumstances  which  had  induced  to  his  cousin's 
return.  He  had  been  no  party  to  his  father's  attempt  at  fraud, 
having  never  entertained  a  doubt  of  the  correctness  of  Mr. 
Oaddock's  statements  in  relation  to  the  clauses  of  the  will  ; 
still  he  felt  that  something  of  the  obloquy,  necessarily,  though 
undeservedly,  rested  upon  him,  and  he  resolved  to  visit  his 
cousin  at  Regla  and  wipe  off  any  stain  that,  in  the  opinion  of 
her  husband,  might  rest  upon  his  character,  by  asking  from  his 
cousin's  own  lips  an  explanation  of  his  conduct  during  her  for 
mer  sojourn  on  the  estate. 

He  arrived  at  Regla  about  a  month  after  Gerald  and  his  wife 
had  landed  at  Havana,  and  was  kindly  received  by  them. 
Alice,  in  fact,  had  told  her  husband  of  his  generous  behavior, 
and  his  fears  that  his  conduct  might  be  misinterpreted  were 
unfounded,  Gerald  was  not  only  ready  but  eager  to  give  him 
a  cordial  reception  and  a  generous  welcome,  and  he  was  pressed 
to  take  up  his  abode  with  them  while  he  remained. 

"  I  will  gladly  do  so,"  he  replied,  "  but  my  stay  will  be  but 
short.  1  received  a  letter  from  my  father  written  in  Paris, 
about  a  fortnight  since,  requesting  me  to  go  to  the  United 
States,  and  thence  take  passage  to  India.  He  will  meet  me 
there,  having  long  before  this  sailed  for  Calcutta.  My  father 
made  no  allusion  whatever  to  his  niece,  nor  did  he  say  why  he 
was  not  again  coming  to  the  West  Indies ;  but  in  order  to  in 
duce  me  the  more  promptly  to  accede  to  his  wishes,  he  hinted 
that  as  I  had  formerly  mentioned  to  him  that  I  had  an  "attach 
ment  "  in  Jamaica,  I  had  his  consent  to  marry  the  young  lady 
and  carry  her  with  me  to  Calcutta.  I  couldn't  understand  the 
cause  of  this  sudden  alteration  in  his  views,  until  I  read  the 
newspaper  gossip  in  relation  to  these  Cuban  plantations.  I 
was  exceedingly  mortified,  and  you  will  acknowledge  with 
good  reason,  the  more  especially  as  the  old  commissary  Gen 
eral,  the  father  pf  my  fiance  —for  I  have  been  pushing  mat 
ters  hard  since  my  return  from  Cuba,  and  haye  obtained  the 


348  THE    WANDERER. 

young  lady's  promise  to  marry  me — read  the  story  in  the 
papers,  and  demanded  an  explanation,  and  the  young  lady  her 
self  refused  to  see  me. 

"  I  told  the  old  gentleman  the  whole  story,  and  he  was  so 
pleased  with  my  candor,  as  he  expressed  himself,  that  he  shook 
hands  with  me  and  said  that  he  thought  better  of  me  than  ever, 
that  I  had  acted  quite  right,  and  should  immediately  have  an 
interview  with  his  daughter." 

"  I  trust,"  said  Alice,  "  that  you  have  had  no  difficulty  in 
that  quarter." 

"  A  little,  at  first,  I  must  confess.  Miss  Barton  readily  over 
looked  everything  the  gossiping  newspapers  had  said,  except 
ing  the  allusions  to  the  beauty  of  the  young  heiress,  whom  I, 
forsooth,  (so  it  was  hinted)  had  been  trying  to  win." 

Alice  smiled,  and  said  that  she  hoped  her  cousin  had  satis 
fied  Miss  Barton  of  the  falsity  of  these  statements. 

"  Well,  I  did,  after  a  while,"  replied  George,  smiling  in  his 
turn.  "  A  little  to  your  detriment,  my  fair  coz.  All  is  fair, 
they  say,  in  love  and  war,  and  I  plead  guilty  to  a  little  subter 
fuge,  and  obliquity  of  expression.  I  told  her  you  were  a 
perfect  fright,  an  uncouth,  red-faced  English  girl,  whose  sole  at 
traction  was  your  money  bags,  and  that  I  never,  for  one  mo 
ment  entertained  a  particle  of  affection  for  you,  for  if  I  had 
demonstrated  the  slightest  partiality,  you  would  have  jumped 
into  my  arms,  and " 

"  Stop,  stop,"  said  Alice,  laughing  heartily,  and  placing  her 
hand  upon  her  cousin's  mouth,  "  you  call  this  a  trifling  obli 
quity  of  expression,  eh,  sir?  Why,  it's  downright  falsehood, 
and  you  know  it.  You  ought  to  be  made  to  do  penance  in  a 
white  sheet.  Gerald  ought  to  call  you  out.  Who  ever 
heard  of  such  audacity  1  However,  since  I  am  married  and 
my  ugliness  is  no  longer  in  the  market,  seeking  a  purchaser, 
into  whose  arms  to  jump,  I  forgive  you  this  once,  and  go  so 
far  in  my  generosity  as  to  hope  that  your  pleading  was  success 
ful," 


DEPARTURE    FROM    CU£A.  349 

"So  successful,"  replied  George,  "that  we  are  to  be  married 
on  my  return  to  Kingston,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  weks  we 
shall  be  on  our  way  to  Calcutta.  What  my  father  intends 
doing  there  I  don't  know.  Probably  nothing.  I  know  him  to 
be  in  possession  of  a  handsome  fortune,  and  this  knowledge 
increases  my  surprise  at  his  action  in  relation  to  this  Cuban 
property.  He  has  lived  for  many  years  in  India.  All  his 
friends  are  there,  and  I  suppose  he  intends  to  spend  the  re 
mainder  of  his  days  in  that  country.'' 

"  Do  you  think  it  likely  that  you  will  remain?"  inquired 
Gerald. 

"  That  I  cannot  say.  My  father  has  influence  there,  and  can 
no  doubt,  procure  me  a  good  appointment,  and  both  Mary  and 
I  look  forward  to  the  voyage,  and  Mary  is  in  extacies  at  the 
idea  of  seeing  a  distant  country  of  which  she  has  heard  arid 
read  so  much." 

George  very  much  enjoyed  his  visit,  and  he  and  Gerald  laid 
the  foundation  of  a  friendship,  which  has  never  been  broken. 

But  the  day  was  at  hand  on  which  he  was  to  set  out  on  his 
return  to  Jamaica,  and  to  meet  his  expectant  fiancee,  and  with 
mutual  good  wishes  and  expressions  of  friendship,  they  parted. 

Gerald  was  now  growing  anxious  to  visit  the  United  States. 
The  recollections  of  early  boyhood  which  shed  a  golden  halo 
upon  the  localities  wherein  that  early  boyhood  had  been  spent, 
aided  not  a  little  by  all  that  he  had  heard  and  read  of  the  rapid 
progress  of  the  land  in  which  he  had  drawn  his  first  breath,  had 
determined  him,  now  that  he  was  enabled  to  gratify  his  often 
expressed  wish,  to  visit  America,  to  make  the  United  States 
his  future  home  ;  besides,  he  had  business  there  which  might 
prove  of  importance,  and  he  wished,  consequently,  to  visit 
Cincinnati,  where  his  father's  farm  had  been  located,  and  to  see 
this  Mr.  Brower,  whom  he  recollected  as  his  fellow-passenger 
in  the  Liverpool  stage,  and  of  whom'his  mother  had  written  in 
one  of  her  last  letters  to  him  when  in  India. 

Preparations  were  accordingly  made  for  the  passage  to  New 


350  THE    WANDERER. 

York,  and  very  soon  after  George  Oaddock  sailed  for  Jamaica 
Gerald  and  his  wife  were  on  their  way  to  the  United  States. 

During  the  passage  Gerald  related  to  Alice  his  own  faint  re 
collections  of  his  native  land,  and  all  that  he  recollected  having 
heard  from  his  mother,  at  different  times,  of  his  father's  hard 
experience  there.  With  the  names  of  Mr.  Biggin  and  Mr. 
Jenkins,  the  publisher,  he  was  quite  familiar,  his  mother  had 
often  spoken  of  his  father's  connection  with  the  "  Trumpeter  of 
Freedom"  and  of  the  oddities  of  its  proprietor  and  editor,  and 
also  of  Mr.  Dalton's  interview  with  the  publisher,  who  would 
not  listen  to  him  because  he  had  not  a  European  reputation.. 
Washington  Irving's  works  and  Cooper's  novels,  and  Bancroft's 
and  Prescott's  histories,  and  the  speeches  of  Calhoun,  and  Clay 
and  Webster,  bad  been  eulogized  in  England,  and  their  names 
become  household  words — and,  on  one  occasion,  when  Gerald 
was  reading  aloud  to  his  mother,  in  her  little  sitting-room  at 
Herrington,  one  of  the  then  newly  published  works  of  the  first- 
named  author,  with  whose  praises  the  newspapers  and  reviews 
of  England  were  ringing,  Mrs.  Dalton  had  smilingly  mentioned 
to  Gerald  the  fact,  of  the  publisher's  stating  to  his  father,  that 
this  young  man  would  never  acquire  a  European  reputation. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  these  people,"  said  the  young  man, 
to  Alice,  "but  several  years  have  passed  away  since  then,  and 
they  may  be  no  longer  living." 

It  was  a  fine  bright  morning  in  June,  when  the  schooner,  on 
board  which  they  had  taken  passage,  arrived  in  the  Bay  of  New 
York,  the  extraordinary  beauty  of  which  drew  many  an  excla 
mation  of  delight  from  both.  The  sun  shone  gloriously  and  the 
still  waters  of  the  bay  reflected  his  beams  with  dazzling  bright 
ness.  The  sloping  shores,  green  and  thickly  wooded,  and 
studded  with  villas  and  farm-houses  and  small  villages,  formed 
a  beautiful  frame-work  to  the  nautical  landscape — and  the 
countless  vessels,  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  from  the  magnificent 
"  liner"  to  the  North  river  sloop,  impressed  the  beholder  with 
a  grand  idea  of  the  wealth  and  of  the  unlimited  commerce  of 
the  country. 


GERALD    ILLUSTRATES    A    SUBJECT.         351 

"  Yours  is  indeed  a  glorious  country,"  said  Alice  in  a  whis 
per,  pressing  her  husband's  hand,  "  I  shall  readily  become  an 
American  too,  Gerald  ;  but,  you  will  not  forget,  that  your 
mother  and  father  were  English,  and  that  the  bones  of  the  for 
mer  lie  beneath  English  soil  '?" 

"  No,"  said  Gerald,  earnestly,  "  and  it  would  be  well  if  it 
were  more  generally  remembered  by  others  whose  English 
ancestry  is  more  remote,  that  the  bones  of  their  forefathers  lie 
mouldering  in  English  graves,  and  that  English  men  and 
women  would  recollect,  too,  that  their  children  have  peopled 
this  great  and  growing  country,  and  that  every  instance  of  its 
progress  reflects  honor  upon  England.  The  people  of  both 
countries  are  to  blame  when  any  source  of  difficulty  arises  be 
tween  them.  Having  naturally  an  almost  equal  affection  and 
admiration  for  both  countries,  I  have  often  read  with  disgust 
the  tirades  in  the  English  newspapers  against  the  United  States, 
written,  as  it  would  appear,  with  no  other  object  than  to 
keep  alive  a  feeling  of  distrust  and  jealousy  that  must  be  in 
jurious  to  their  mutual  interest.  1  have  seldom  had  an  oppor 
tunity  of  seeing  an  American  newspaper;  but,  1  have  been  told 
that  they  are  equally  to  blamev  1  shall  soon  know  whether  this 
be  true  or  not.  I  hope  not ;  for  it  appears  to  me  to  be  one  of 
the  foolishest  things  on  earth  for  two  such  nations  as  England 
and  the  United  States  to  seek  out,  as  it  were,  causes  of  quarrel, 
when  united  in  indissoluble  friendship  they  might  do  so  much 
for  the  happiness  and  prosperity  of  the  whole  world." 

"Whence  arises  this  feeling  of  jealousy?"  inquired  Alice. 

"  It  is  hard  to  say,"  replied  her  husband  ;  "  but  you  know, 
Alice,  that  the  most  difficult  quarrels  to  heal,  are  those  which 
occur  between  different  branches  of  the  same  family.  I  will 
illustrate  the  subject  after  a  homely  fashion. — An  old  couple 
having  a  larger  family  than  they  can  conveniently  maintain  at 
home,  send  them  to  a  dUtant  farm,  which  they  stock  f  >r  them, 
and  the  cultivation  of  which  they  superintend,  while  the  children 
are  yet  too  young  to  manage  for  themselves.  This  is  all  very 


352  THE    WANDERER. 

well ;  but  by  and  by,  the  children  grow  up  to  manhood,  and 
fancy  that  they  can  manage  their  own  affairs  more  satisfacto 
rily  for  themselves  than  their  parents  can  for  them.  All  they 
want  is  to  do  this,  arid  they  are  still  willing  to  be  subject,  after 
an  independent  fashion,  to  the  old  folks  at  home ;  but  the  old 
folks  being  rather  a  meddlesome  couple,  fond  of  arranging  every 
other  family's  affairs  to  their  own  liking,  as  a  matter  of  course 
get  into  a  great  many  scrapes  and  quarrels ;  to  get  the  more 
easily  out  of  which,  they  call  upon  their  children,  who  are  doing 
very  comfortably  on  their  distant  farm,  to  help  them,  by  selling 
a  large  portion  of  their  produce.  They  object  to  this  since  the 
quarrels  which  have  involved  their  parents  have  been  none  of 
their  seeking — still  they  say,  if  you  will  place  us  on  an  equality 
with  yourselves,  we  will  do  what  is  reasonable  in  the  matter. 
This  assumption  of  even  partial  independence  affronts  the  old 
folks,  who  contend  that  the  farm  is  theirs,  and  that  the  children 
are  only  there  on  sufferance. 

"  But,"  reply  the  children,  "  see  how  we  have  improved  it. 
We  found  it  a  waste,  and  before  long  it  will  be  richer  than  the 
old  homestead." 

"  Who  helped  you  to  do  so  1 "  ask  the  old  folks. 

"  You,  at  first,"  reply  the  children,  "  and  we  feel  grateful  for 
your  aid  ;  "  but  latterly  we  begin  to  discover  that  it  is  you  that 
are  receiving  aid  from  us,  even  to  the  robbing  of  our  own  fa 
milies.  We  are  willing  to  do  the  thing  that's  right,  but  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  asking  too  much." 

"  Parents  cannot  ask  too  much  of  their  children,"  say  the  old 
couple. 

-  "  But,"  reply  the  children,  "  you  should  recollect  we  are  not 
all  children  of  yours.  We  have  received  a  considerable  ac 
cession  of  young  folks  from  other  families  that  have  no  con 
nection  with  you  ;  and  then  some  of  our  younger  brothers  ran 
away  from  home  and  joined  us,  because  you  used  them  so 
harshly,  and  insisted  upon  their  going  to  the  Established  Church 
on  Sunday,  when  they  wanted  to  go  to  Meeting.  You  surely 


GERALD    ILLUSTRATES    A    SUBJECT.         353 

have  no  claim  upon  these ;  besides,  we  have  married  among 
these  cousins  and  these  visitors  from  other  families,  and  have 
children  of  our  own  growing  up,  who,  having  never  seen  their 
grandparents,  can't  be  expected  to  have  any  very  strong  attach 
ment  to  them — at  least,  not  so  strong  an  attachment,  as  to  be 
willing  to  supply  them  with  the  food  they  require  themselves, 
for  though  we  are  thriving  finely,  we  are  young  yet,  and  have 
not  been  able  to  lay  up  money  in  our  coffers  as  you  have,  and 
it  really  requires  our  utmost  efforts  at  present  to  support  our 
own  families. 

"  This  was  reasonable  argument  enough,  but  the  old  folks 
were  obstinate,  and  wouldn't  listen  to  it,  but  said  they'd  take, 
by  force,  what  they  couldn't  get  for  love ;  and  the  spirit  of  the 
young  people  was  roused  at  this,  and  they  dared  them  to  come 
on  the  farm  at  their  peril.  But  they  treated  this  threat  with 
contempt,  and  did  come  and  behaved  very  cruelly,  not  at  all 
like  parents  ought  to  behave — burning  down  hay-ricks  and  the 
stores  of  grain  that  the  children  had  laid  aside  for  a  rainy  day, 
and  doing  all  the  mischief  they  could.  The  children,  however, 
resisted  with  all  their  might,  and  some  of  the  children  of  a 
neighbor  of  the  old  couple,  with  whom  they  had  been  quarrel 
ling  all  their  lives,  came  over  to  the  farm  and  took  the  part  of 
the  young  people;  and  after  a  long  struggle  they  finally  com 
pelled  the  old  folks  to  go  back  to  the  old  homestead  and  promise 
never  to  interfere  any  more  with  the  management  of  the  farm. 

"  After  some  time,  things  on  the  farm  were  put  to  rights 
again,  and  the  farm  thrived  more  than  ever,  and  the  old  people 
benefited  by  the  change.  They  were  better  off  than  ever,  by 
exchanging  goods  with  the  young  people,  although  a  lawyer, 
named  Burke,  whom  they  had  consulted  during  the  quarrel, 
had  told  them  that  the  loss  of  the  farm  would  prove  the  sunset 
of  the  old  homestead.  When  they  saw  this,  they  became  pretty 
good  friends  again,  until,  some  years  after,  another  quarrel  oc 
curred  in  consequence  of  the  old  couple  insisting  upon  searching 
the  young  people's  farm  \vagons  in  which  they  carried  their 


354:  THE    WANDERER. 

goods  to  market,  under  the  pretence  that  they  had  kidnapped 
some  of  the  younger  branches  of  the  old  people's  family,  and 
concealed  them  among  the  produce.  This  second  quarrel  was 
settled  after  a  short  time,  and  since  then  they  have  rubbed 
along  pretty  comfortably  together,  and  would  continue  to  do 
so,  if  certain  quarrelsome  members  of  both  branches  of  the 
family,  who,  generally  speaking,  have  no  interests  at  stake,  did 
not  persist  in  endeavoring  to  set  them  by  the  ears,  merely  for 
the  sake  of  their  own  aggrandisement.  More  than  once  they 
have  nearly  succeeded  in  doing  so,  but  the  good  sense  of  the 
more  respectable  and  responsible  members  of  both  families, 
who  are  beginning  to  think  that  it  is  to  their  mutual  interest 
to  be  friendly  together,  and  to  aid  and  assist  one  another,  since 
the  old  people  having  laid  by  a  good  stock  of  money,  and  valu 
able  household  goods,  can  exchange  these  commodities  with  the 
young  people's  farm  produce,  and  both  be  gainers  by  the  trans 
fer.  Some  people  think,  that  if  anything  really  serious  should 
happen  to  either  branch  of  the  family — such  for  instance  as  a 
combination  of  other  families  to  crush  their  rights  and  liberties 
— they  would  immediately  unite  and  punish  the  offenders ;  and 
one  thing  is  pretty  certain,  that  united,  they  would  be  more 
than  a  match  for  any  combination  that  could  be  brought  against 
them.  But  yon  see,  my  love,  how  difficult  it  is  to  heal  breaches 
that  have  occurred  in  a  family." 

While  Alice  had  been  an  amused  listener  to  Gerald's  illus 
tration,  the  schooner  had  arrived  opposite  the  city,  and  came  to 
an  anchor.  They  took  leave  of  the  captain  of  the  vessel  and 
went  on  shore  as  soon  as  possible,  and  Gerald  hiring  a  car 
riage,  requested  the  driver  to  carry  them  to  the  Astor  House 

After  partaking  of  dinner  and  resting  themselves,  Gerald  pro 
posed  a  walk  in  Broadway. 

Alice  readily  assented  to  this  proposition,  and  they  set  out 
together.  Alice  was  delighted  with  all  she  saw. 

"  Everybody,  almost,  appears  well  dressed,  and  well  off," 
she  said,  "but  yet  everybody  looks  so  earnest  and  thoughtful; 


BROADWAY.  355 

every  "gentleman  at  least — that  it  is  painful  to  observe  the  ex 
pression  of  their  countenances  ;  and  how  they  are  hurrying  along 
the  street !  Surely  some  great  calamity  must  have  occurred." 

"  Oh.  no/'  said  Gerald,  smiling  at  her  observation,  "  Every 
body  wears  that  expression  here,  especially  in  business  hours ; 
I  was  too  young  to  notice  it  when  here  before,  but  I  have  heard 
my  mother  and  others  speak  of  it." 

u  But  what  is  the  cause  ?"   asked  Alice. 

"It  is  difficult  to  say.  An  eager  anxiety  to  make  money, 
some  assert.  For  my  part,  I  think  there  are  other  causes, 
though  these  may  have  led  to  that  result.  The  people  of  this 
country,  when  it  was  first  settled,  had  much  to  contend  with, 
and  it  required  all  their  energies  to  combat  the  obstacles  they 
encountered  ;  consequently  the  ancestors,  even  of  the  men  of 
the  present  generation,  had  little  time  to  spare  for  recreation. 
They  made  their  business  a  recreation,  and  the  result  has  been 
that  this  restless  seeking  after  business  has  descended  to  their 
children.  The  country  has  progressed  in  an  unprecedented — a 
wonderful  manner  ;  but  it  is  a  young  country  yet.  Perhaps 
by-and-by  this  constant  eagerness  may  give  way  to  a  less 
fatiguing  and  exciting,  and  1  must  acknowledge  a  more  sensible 
method  of  doing  business.  But  what  do  you  think  of  the 
ladies  ?" 

"  They  are  almost  universally  pretty,  and  dressed  magnifi 
cently—too  magnificently,  I  think,  for  good  taste." 

"And  yet,"  said  Gerald,  smiling,  "  I  warrant  before  you  have 
been  here  six  months,  you  will  be  as  eager  to  be  in  the  fashion 
as  anybody.  I  declare,  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  walk  with  you, 
you  look  so  dowdy-like." 

"  For  shame  !"  said  Alice,  playfully  tapping  her  husband's 
arm  with  her  parasol.  "If  you  think  so,  you  have  your 
remedy  ;  go  into  that  linen-draper's  shop  and  buy  me  that  hand 
some  shawl,  and  then  I  shall  look  as  fine  as  your  own  country 
women." 

"  There  !"  said  Gerald,  "  was  I  not  right  ?     You  haven't  been 


356  THE    WANDERER. 

three  hours  in  America  till  you  begin  to  catch  the  contagion. 
But  you  will  be  laughed  at  if  you  speak  of  a  linen-draper's 
shop.  The  term  here  is  dry  goods  store." 

"  Well,  any  term  you  please,"  said  Alice  ;  "  but  you  shall 
not  think  to  get  off  that  way ;  you  shall  buy  me  that  shawl  as 
an  atonement  for  your  impertinence." 

They  entered  the  store,  and  Gerald  purchased  the  article  in 
question.  When  they  came  out  of  the  store,  Gerald  asked  his 
wife  what  she  thought  of  Broadway. 

"  It  is  a  very  beautiful  thoroughfare,"  she  replied,  "  and 
very  gay,  almost  as  gay,  though  after  a  very  different  style,  as 
the  Boulevards  of  Paris,  and  a  great  deal  more  bustling ;  but 
that  may  be  because  it  is  so  much  narrower.  Many  of  the 
buildings,  too,  are.  really  magnificent,  and  when  the  street  is 
finished,  it  will  be  one  of  the  handsomest  I  have  ever  seen ;  but 
some  of  the  houses  are  old  and  out  of  character." 

"  When  the  street  is  finished  !"  said  Gerald,  laughing,  "  I 
don't  recollect  much  about  it  myself,  but  I  believe  it  was  about 
as  nearly  finished,  at  least  this  portion  of  it,  when  I  was  here 
before,  thirteen  years  ago,  as  it  is  now,  and  about  as  far  finished 
now  as  it  ever  will  be." 

"  Why,"  said  Alice,  "  I  thought  from  the  piles  of  brick  lay 
ing  about,  and  the  timber  stretching  across  the  causeway,  that 
it  was  a  newly  opened  thoroughfare,  and  that  these  old  houses 
had  stood  on  the  old  line  of  street ;  it's  not  one  or  two  new 
buildings  that  I  see  going  up,  but  one  here  and  there,  as  far  as 
the  eye  can  reach;  and  then  these  heaps  of  packing  cases  and 
goods  on  the  pavement,  are  they  not  waiting  to  be  carried  in  by 
persons  who  have  recently  moved  here  T' 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Gerald;  "the  street  pavement  is  con 
sidered  part  of  the  legitimate  store,  and  this  constant  scram 
bling  over  piles  of  lumber  and  all  sorts  of  obstacles,  and  dodg 
ing  occasionally  out  into  the  street,  at  the  risk  of  being  run 
over  by  the  omnibusses,  is  supposed  by  the  city  authorities  to 
impart  vigor  to  the  limbs  of  the  citizens,  and  to  inspire  them 
with  confidence  and  disregard  of  danger." 


BROADWAY.  357 

Alice  looked  up  into  her  husband's  face  to  see  if  he  were  jok 
ing  or  not,  and  noticing  her  looks,  he  continued  : 

"  The  very  quality  that  I  have  just  alluded  to,  the  constant 
eagerness  to  have  something  better  than  one's  neighbors,  leads 
to  this  continual  change  in  the  aspect  of  things.  I  have  been 
told  that  Americans  leaving  New  York  for  a  year  or  two  have 
found  things  so  changed  on  their  return,  that  they  have  failed 
to  recognize  the  localities  they  formerly  knew  well.  They  have 
found  not  only  houses  built  where  vacant  lots  stood  before,  and 
houses  so  altered  and  improved  that  the  character  of  the  street 
has  undergone  a  change,  but  new  streets  and  thoroughfares 
opened  as  miraculously,  as  it  appears  to  the  returned  citizen, 
as  if  the  genii  of  Aladdin's  lamp  had  been  summoned  to  do 
the  work.  So  with  Broadway  ;  it  is  built  anew  every  few  years, 
and  ten  to  one  the  most  magnificent  structures  you  now  admire 
will  in  a  few  years  give  place  to  others  to  gratify  the, whim 
or  extravagance  perchance  of  some  new  owner,  for  property 
here  is  continually  changing  hands.  However,  I  am  proud  of 
my  native  city." 

"Arid  you  have  good  reason  to  be  so,"  returned  Alice. 
"  There  is  something  inspiring  in  this  very  eagerness  after  nov 
elty,  and  this  continual  change  with  all  its  inconveniences ;  and 
then,"  she  added,  laughing,  "  this  mingling  of  old  and  new 
houses,  and  this  varied  style  of  architecture,  is  so  perfectly 
democratic.  That  old  house  there,  which  appears  aged  enough 
to  be  a  relic  of  the  Revolution,  seems  to  say  to  its  proud  neigh 
bor,  '  I  have  as  good  a  right  to  stand  on  Broadway  as  you.' " 

They  rambled  about,  examining,  admiring  and  criticising  all 
they  saw,  until  Alice  began  to  feel  weary,  when  they  returned 
to  the  hotel. 

That  evening,  Gerald,  who  had  preserved  Mr.  Brown's  ad 
dress,  wrote  to  him  and  informed  him  of  his  intended  visit  to 
Cincinnati,  but  said  that  he  should  await  his  Teply  in  New  York, 
as  he  should  not  leave  the  city  for  a  week  or  two. 

Gerald  and  his  wife  took  frequent  walks  in  all  parts  of  the 


358  THE    WANDERER 

city  worth  seeing,  and  made  several  excursions  in  its  vicinity, 
and  Gerald  often  took  a  stroll  through  the  streets  alone, 
when  Alice  was  tired,  or  disinclined  to  join  him. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  he  stopped  before  a  book  store 
in  a  narrow  street,  and  stood  carelessly  examining  the  titles 
of  the  volumes  exposed  for  sale  in  the  window.  Happening 
to  cast  his  eye  upwards,  towards  the  sign  over  the  door,  he 
read  the  inscription,  "Albert  Jenkins,  Bookseller  and  Publisher." 

"  Can  this  be  the  person,"  he  thought,  "  of  whom  I  have  so 
often  heard  my  mother  speak  'f ' 

He  resolved  to  satisfy  himself,  and  walking  into  the  store, 
asked  for  a  copy  of  Irving's  Knickerbocker. 

"  I  have  not  got  it  in  the  store,  sir,"  replied  a  grey-headed, 
spectacled  old  gentleman,  who  was  seated  at  a  desk  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  store,  and  who  came  forward  as  he  spoke. 
"  You  will  find  it  at  Mr.  Irving's  publisher,  Mr.  Putnam." 

"  Its  of  no  consequence,"  replied  Gerald,  "  I  am  a  stranger 
here,  stopping  at  the  Astor  House,  and  merely  want  a  book 
for  my  wife  to  read.  Have  you  any  of  Cooper's  novels'?" 

"  All  of  them,  sir.     Which  do  you  want  T' 

"  Give  me  the  latest  one  that  has  been  published.  I  have  read 
all  the  early  ones  in  England.  Cooper  has  a  great  name  there." 

"  Are  you  an  Englishman  1"  carelessly  asked  the  bookseller, 
apparently  merely  for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

"No,  I  was  born  in  New  York;  but,  I  have  been  for  many 
years  abroad,  and  I  must  acknowledge  that  1  have  felt  some 
pride  when  I  have  heard  the  genius  of  my  countrymen  eulogized 
in  other  lands.  Formerly  a  European  reputation  was  required  ; 
now,  it  is  not  necessary,  for  the  sale  of  an  American  book." 

"  No,  sir,  no,"  said  the  bookseller  with  a  sigh,  (he  was  evi 
dently  one  of  the  olden  school  who  regret  the  progress  of  the 
times.)  "No,  sir, — I  have  here,"  pointing  to  his  shelves,  "a 
large  collection  of  the  old  standard  authors,  sir,  Shakspeare, 
Addison,.  Fielding,  Smollett,  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  Miss  Porter,  and 
a  host  of  others.  I  used  to  sell  them  freely,  now  tit£y1!re  sel 
dom  asked  for.  The  trade  has  changed  sir,  sadly  changed,  and 


BEHIND    THE    AGE.  359 

there  is  little  or  no  demand  for  any  but  American  books.  As 
you  say  sir,  nobody  stops  to  inquire  now,  if  an  author  has 
achieved  a  European  reputation." 

"  Jf  they  gain  an  American  one,  I  should  think  they  hardly 
need  such,  although  it  is  almost  sure  to  follow." 

"  Still,  sir,  1  cannot  but  consider  it  a  sad  falling  off.  It  has 
caused  a  vast  change  to  take  place  in  the  publishing  trade. 
Formerly  there  were  only  a  few  of  us  ;  now,  publishers  are  to 
be  found  in  shoals,  and  most  of  the  old  houses  are  unheard  of, 
they  no  longer  exist." 

Seeing  that  the  old  gentleman  was  inclined  to  be  chatty, 
Gerald,  after  having  purchased  and  paid  for  a  couple  of  vol 
umes,  continued  the  conversation,  by  asking  the  bookseller  if 
he  had  been  long  in  the  business. 

"  More  than  thirty-five  years,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  getting 
very  old  now,  and  merely  remain  in  business,  for  the  sake  of 
amusement.  I  sell  but  little  and  publish  nothing  at  all.  Young 
houses  have  sprung  up  into  collossal  magnitude,  that  were  un 
heard  of  when  I  commenced  business.  There  is  the  Harpers' 
establishment,  twenty  years  ago  it  did  not  exist — now,  more 
books  are  published  by  that  firm,  than  are  published  by  any 
other  house  in  America,  and  few  in  Europe  exceed  them  in  the 
number  and  variety  of  their  publications.  If  they  go  on  thus 
much  longer,  they  will  be  the  greatest  publishers  in  the  world.  I 
could  name  many  others.  It  is  a  sad  state  of  things,  sir,  a  sad 
state  of  things." 

Not  being  exactly  able  to  view  this  state  of  things  in  the 
light  they  were  seen  by  Mr.  Jenkins,  or  even  thoroughly  to 
comprehend  the  old  gentleman's  meaning,  Gerald  was  about  to 
wish  him  good-day  and  leave  the  store,  when  the  idea  struck 
him  to  make  inquiry  respecting  Mr.  Biggin. 

"  By-the-by,"  said  he,  "  do  you  know  a  person  of  the  name 
of  Biggin — a  newspaper  man, — who,  many  years  ago,  pub 
lished  the  "  Trumpeter  of  Freedom  ?" 

"Mr.    Biggin— Mr.   Amos  Biggin,  I  presume  you  mean," 


360  THE    WANDERER. 

said  Mr.  Jenkins.  "  He  has  published  several  newspapers 
which  have  had  but  a  brief  existence,  and  has  been  engaged  in 
various  descriptions  of  business.  I  don't  know  what  he  is  now 
engaged  in — he  has  been  an  unfortunate  man,  sir — very  unfor 
tunate.  But  here  is  the  directory,  perhaps  you  will  find  his 
name  there." 

Gerald  took  the  volume  and  looked  along  the  pages  "  B," 
until  he  found  the  name  he  sought.  There  it  was,  "  Amos 
Biggin — Bowery  Office  of  the  Gift  Penwiper  Society." 

"  Have  you  found  the  name,  sir,"  inquired  the  bookseller. 

"  Yes ;  here  it  is,  '  Amos  Biggin,  Office  of  the  Gift  Pen 
wiper  Society — Bowery.'  AVhat  is  the  meaning  of  a  Gift 
pen-wiper  society  ]" 

"  Ah  !  I  recollect  now,  I  might  have  recollected  sooner,"  said 
the  bookseller,  "  Yes,  I  heard  that  Biggin  had  started  that 
speculation.  He  is  President  of  the  Society,  I  believe.  It  is  a 
description  of  Mutual  Benefit  Society,  which  has  sprung  up  of 
Jate  years,  by  the  aid  of  which  on  purchasing  a  trifling  article, 
the  purchaser  has  a  chance  of  receiving  a  valuable  return  for 
his  money,  in  the  shape  of  some  gift.  Sometimes,  I  am  told, 
receiving  an  article  of  great  value." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Gerald,  "My  father  was  acquainted 
with  the  gentleman,  and  I  should  like  to  see  him,"  and  wishing 
the  bookseller  good-day,  he  walked  out  of  the  store. 

Gaining  the  Bowery,  Gerald  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the 
Gift  Establishment,  for  he  had  hardly  entered  the  thorough 
fare,  before  he  saw  opposite  him,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  the  name  of  Amos  Biggin,  in  flaunting  gold  letters,  head 
ing  a  black  board  with  gilded  letters,  setting  forth  the  advan 
tages  that  would  accrue  to  all  who  invested  two  shillings  in  the 
purchase  of  a  pen-wiper,  the  corners  of  the  board  being  deco 
rated  with  immense  parti-colored  pen-wipers,  and  the  board 
itself  being  set  in  a  frame-work  of  pen-wipers  of  smaller  dimen 
sions. 

Crossing  the  street,  he  entered  the  store,  when  a  portly  gen- 


VISIT    TO    MR.    BIGGIN.  361 

tleman,  of  pompous  aspect  and  florid  countenance,  although 
beginning  to  show  signs  of  age  in  his  wrinkled  brow  and 
shrunken  mouth,  advanced  to  the  counter  and  inquired  his 
business,  at  the  same  time  pushing  towards'  him  a  heap  of 
colored  pen-wipers,  as  if  to  choose  from. 

"  Mr.  Amos  Biggin,  I  presume  ?"  said  Gerald,  disregarding 
the  merchandise  before  him. 

"  The  same,  at  your  service,"  replied  the  individual  addressed. 

"  You  at  one  time  published  a  newspaper,  entitled  the 
Trumpeter  of  Freedom?'' 

"I  did  sir,  many  years  ago.  Let  me  see,  it  must  be  now 
eighteen  or  nineteen  years  since  the  Trumpeter  of  Freedom 
burst  up.  I  have  published  several  newspapers  since  then, 
sir.  You  may  have  heard  of  the  '  Denouncer,'  and  the  '  Dem 
ocratic  Thunderer."1  I  had  the  honor  to  start  both  those  sheets,- 
sir;  but  they  burst  up,  too.  •  The  envy  of  the  monopolizing 
sheets,  sir,  proved  too  much  for  them.  There  was  not,  1  am 
sorry  to  say,  sufficient  independence  on  the  part  of  the  public 
to  enable  me  to  carry  out  my  views,  or  I  would  have  shown 
to  the  world  my  idea  of  a  good  newspaper.  But  the  public, 
sir,  the  public,  always  looking  to  the  present  and  regardless  of 
the  welfare  of  posterity,  wanted  the  news  that  my  availabilities 
would  not  allow  of  my  procuring,  and  they  bought  the  venial 
sheets,  and  allowed  my  independent,  patriotic  journal  to  fall 
to  the  ground.  But,  may  I  inquire  your  name,  sir,  and  the 
cause  of  your  taking  an  interest  in  the  by-gone  Trumpeter  of 
Freedom.  F 

"  My  name  is  Dalton — Gerald  Dalton,  and  my  father  was 
associated  with  you  on  the  Trumpeter  of  Freedom.  1  have 
been  abroad  for  many  years  and  just  now,  seeing  your  name 
in  the  directory,  I  thought  I  would  call,  not  exactly  for  old  ac 
quaintance  sake,  since  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  saw  you  ;  but 
still  for  the  sake  of  old  recollections.  I  was  born  during  the 
period  my  father  was  associated  with  you  on  that  journal." 

"  Indeed,  1  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir,'5  said  Mr.  Biggin.    "  Pi-ay 
16 


3(32  THE    TVAXDERER. 

take  a  seat.  Now  you  mention  the  name.  I  recollect  your 
father  well — a  most  excellent  gentleman.  Still  living  and 
prospering,  J  hope.  And  I  recollect,  too  the  circumstance  of 
your  birth.  Spoilt  a  most  excellent  leader  of  mine,  sir.  It 
came  out  not  only  misspelt,  but  full  of  ridiculous  grammatical 
errors — the  printer's,  of  course — I  always  left  the  revision  of 
my  articles  to  your  father.  I  had  full  confidence  in  him,  sel 
dom  found  occasion  to  find  fault  with  him ;  but  the  misfortune 
had  a  bad  effect  upon  the  paper — very  bad.  The  editor  of 
the  "  Raven/'  a  scurrilous  opposition  sheet,  started  for  a  pal 
try  election  purpose,  had  the  vandalism  to  publish  in  his  vile 
journal,  a  card  purporting  to  be  sent  in  by  your  father,  say 
ing  that  his  wife  having  given  birth  to  a  son.  he.  the  sub-editor 
of  the  Trumpeter,  had  been  unable  to  attend  to  the  revision  of 
the  principal  editor's  leaders,  and  that  consequently,  he  hoped 
the  public  would  excuse  the  bad  grammar  and  abominable 
spelling.  But  that's  gone  by,  now.  sir.  How  is  your  father  ?" 

••  My  father  has  been  dead  many  years,"  replied  Gerald, 
"  and  I  have  been  abroad  since  I  was  eight  years  of  age.  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  doing  so  apparently  prosperous  a  business, 
though,  to  judge  from  appearances — " 

-  Ah.  Mr.  Dalton,*'  replied  Mr.  Biggin.  "  appearances  are 
deceitful.  You  see  in  me.  sir.  as  I  often  said  to  your  lamented 
father,  an  ill-used  man.  One  whose  purposes  have  been  misun 
derstood,  and  whose  endeavors  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  his 
fellow  creatures,  have  all  proved  miserable  failures.  I  have 
tried  several  things  besides  newspaper  publishing.  I  have 
been  a  biologist,  and  have  ende^'ored  to  reconcile  the  antipa 
thies  of  mind  and  matter.  I  have  been  in  the  spirit  line  and 
endeavored  to  inculcate  a  taste  for  good  genuine  liquors  among 
my  countrymen,  but  in  vain ;  I  burst  up,  and  I  have  been  in 
the  spiritual  line ;  an  humble  preacher  at  one  time,  at  another, 
a  teacher  of  the  mysteries  of  spiritualism  ;  but  I  failed  in  all, 
was  called  an  impostor,  a  charlatan,  a  toe-rapper,  everything 
that  is  abusive. 


THE    WORLD'S    INGRATITUDE.  :>  3 

••  But  in  this  present  occupation  ?"  said  Gerald, 

"  In  this  occupation,  sir,  every  intelligent  man  would  conceive 
there  was  a  fair  field  for  success.  What  can  be  grander  than 
its  conception  ?  Where  a  nobler  union  of  the  humble  and  the 
magnifidtnt  than  is  to  be  found  in  the  object  of  this  so 
Think,  sir.  of  a  pen-wiper  and  a  brown  stone  mansion  in  the 
Fifth  avenue,  or  a  pen- \\iper  and  a  farm  of  one  hundred  acres 
of  land  among  the  Rocky  Mountains,  or  a  pen-wiper  and  a  pair 
of  splendid  bays,  and  a  neat  buggy  behind  them  !  Reason 
quails  in  making  the  comparison,  and  yet  the  penwiper 
useful  in  its  way  as  either  of  the  other  things  mentioned.  The 
main  object  of  my  life  has  been  to  leave  the  name  behind  me 
when  I  am  laid  in  the  grave,  of  a  benefactor  to  my  fellow  men. 
I  should  wish  parents  to  lead  their  prattling  children  to  my 
lowly  tomb  and  to  say,  '  look,  my  children,  and  weep  !  beneath 
that  stone  lie  the  mortal  remains  of  Amos  Biggin,  the 
philanthropist,  and  the  benefactor  of  his  species.  Weep  over 
his  grave  and  go  and  follow  his  example,  and  lie  in  such  a 
grave  when  you  die.'  But,  alas !  the  fates  have  been  against 
me  and  if  any  child  follows  my  example,  such  is  the  wicked- 
:"  the  world,  that  very  likely  he  would  die  without  hav 
ing  any  grave  to  lie  in  a: 

••  You  have  been  unfortunate,  indeed."  said  Gerald. 

••  You  may  well  say   so,"  continued   Mr.   BL'iiiii.     "  Bank 
rupt   in  purse,  and   bowed  with  years.  I  still  sought  to 
what  h;id  been  the  aim  of  my  life,  the  esteem  of  my  fellow  men. 

si  /.j  about  how  I  should  accomplish  this  end.  in  the  ruined 
state  of  my  finances,  the  glorious  idea  of  the  penwiper  struck 

What  innumerable  garments  are  ruined  annually.  I 
to  myself,  in  consequence  of  the  abominable  and  slovenly  prac 
tice  of  wiping  pens  on  coat-tails.     How  ma        _     •      f  d 
pens  are  corroded  before  their  time  by  the  negligence  of  those 
who  never  wipe  the  ink  from  their  pens  at  all.     How  many 
innocent  children's  mouths  are  cankered  by  the  practice  ot* 
sucking  the  ink  from  their  pens  at  school.     Similar  thoughts 


364  THE    WANDERER. 

crowded  upon  my  imagination,  and  I  resolved  to  dispose 
of  penwipers  in  such  a  manner  that  the  use  of  them  should 
become  general. 

"  Old  clothes,"  I  said,  "  will  supply  the  cloth,  and  old  clothes 
are  cheap,  and  by  making  the  pen-wipers  parti-colored,  I  shall 
instil,  by  the  judicious  arrangement  of  these  colors,  a  love  of 
the  beautiful  in  the  juvenile  bosom.  The  magnificent  idea  of  a 
Gift  Society  flashed  upon  me  like  a  clap  of  thunder — I  mean  a 
streak  of  lightning — and  I  drew  out  a  prospectus — a  glorious 
idea,  sir.  Here  is  one" — handing  a  paper  to  Gerald  from  a 
heap  that  lay  on  the  counter — "  read  it  at  your  leisure.  You 
will  see  that  by  expending  the  small  sum  of  two  shillings  in 
the  purchase  of  a  pen- wiper,  the  purchaser  has  a  chance  when 
pen-wipers  are  sold  to  the  number  of  one  million — a  very  small 
calculation,  you  will  perceive,  out  of  the  twenty-two  millions 
comprising  our  population — of  obtaining  something  of  value 
ranging  from  one  dollar  to  twenty  thousand  dollars — from  a 
smelling-bottle  to  a  brown  stone  mansion  with  out-houses  and  all 
necessary  conveniences,  situated  in  the  most  fashionable  part 
of  the  city.  You  will  see  that  I  have  made  the  following  cal 
culation.  One  million  quarters  amount  to  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars.  Out  of  this  sum  1  propose  to  expend 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  gifts,  only  reserving  to  my 
self  the  paltry  sum  of  fifty  thousand  dollars,  out  of  which  I  pay 
all  the  expenses.  The  idea  is  a  grand  one  ;  and  yet,  sir,  would 
you — can  you  credit  it,  the  public  is  so  blind  to  its  own  inter 
ests  that  I  have  not  sold  a  dozen  pen-wipers  in  more  than  two 
months  that  the  society  has  been  established  ?  Only  two  of 
these  have  I  been  paid  the  stipulated  price  for  ;  they  were  pur 
chased  by  a  countryman  who  was  seeing  the  city  ;  the  others 
I  sold  to  children  for  a  cent  apiece.  I  am  disgusted  with  human 
nature,  and  would  sell  the  entire  stock  at  the  same  rate,  for 
quarter  day  is  drawing  near,  and  I  have  not  wherewith  to  pay 
the  first  quarter's  rent." 

Gerald  duly  sympathized  with  the  unfortunate  Amos  Big- 


VISIT    TO    OHIO.  365 

gin,  and  lamented  the  blindness  of  the  public,  and  then  having 
invested  a  dollar  in  the  purchase  of  four  red,  white  and  green 
pen-wipers,  quitted  the  store.  This  was  the  last  he  saw  of 
Amos  Biggin,  although  he  heard  some  time  after  that  he  was 
again  endeavoring  to  establish  a  campaign  newspaper,  the  Gold 
Pen  Association,  consisting  of  Amos  Biggin  himself,  who  was 
president,  board  of  directors,  secretary  and  clerks  in  his  own 
person,  having,  to  use  Mr.  Biggin's  own  terms,  "  burst  up,"  pay 
ing  something  less  than  a  mill  on  the  dollar. 

Gerald's  letter  to  Mr.  Brower  led  to  a  visit  from  that  gen 
tleman  himself.  He  expressed  great  satisfaction  at  seeing  his 
young  stage-coach  acquaintance,  and  recalled  to  his  recollec 
tion  his  prophecy  that  the  piece  of  swamp  land  would  one  day 
be  valuable  property. 

"  It  is  so  now,"  he  said,  "  and  will  become  still  more  valu 
able.  But  you  must  go  with  me  to  Ohio  and  see  it,  and  take 
Mrs.  Dalton  with  you." 

This  arrangement  was  agreed  upon,  and  after  Mr.  Brower 
had  transacted  the  other  business  which  had  called  him  to  New 
York,  Gerald  and  his  wife  set  out  with  him  for  Ohio.  He 
found  that  his  late  father's  farm  had  been  situated  near  where 
now  one  of  the  finest  canals  in  the  state  was  being  cut,  and  the 

o  / 

piece  of  swamp  land  that  no  one  thought  it  worth  while  to 
take  as  a  gift,  now  of  itself  afforded  a  considerable  income. 
Mr.  Brower  had  built  warehouses  upon  it,  and  it  was  settled 
in  a  manner  satisfactory  to  all  parties,  that  Mr.  Brower  should 
continue  to  rent  it  of  Gerald.  He  did  not  understand  the  busi 
ness  in  which  it  would  be  necessary  to  engage  if  he  had  decided 
to  hold  it  himself,  nor  would  it  have  been  right  to  dislodge 
Mr.  Brower  after  all  he  had  effected ;  besides,  Gerald  knew 
that  he  would  be  required  to  make  frequent  visits  to  Cuba  to 
look  after  his  wife's  interests  there.  So,  after  making  a  tour 
of  the  state,  and  extending  their  tour  in  various  other  direc 
tions,  he  and  Alice  returned  to  New  York,  with  the  intention 
of  remaining  in  that  city  until  they  had  decided  in  what  part 
of  the  country  to  settle. 


366  THE    WANDERER. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

Conclusion,  which  treats  of  various  matters,  each  necessary  to  the  winding 
up  of  the  Story,  and  which,  the  author  hopes,  winds  up  everything  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  reader. 

SOME  time  elapsed  before  Gerald  Dalton  and  Alice  decided 
upon  the  locality  wherein  they  should  reside.  At  length,  Ger 
ald  purchased  a  villa  in  New  Hampshire,  the  beautiful  scenery 
with  which  the  neighborhood  abounded,  having  made  his  wife, 
as  she  expressed  herself,  "  in  love  with  the  spot."  Thither  they 
removed  and  resided,  Gerald  turning  his  attention  to  amateur 
farming  for  amusement,  although  he  was  frequently  obliged  to 
visit  Cuba,  and,  during  the  course  of  five  years,  paid  two  visits 
to  England.  On  one  of  the  visits  Alice  accompanied  him,  and 
two  or  three  times  before  she  had  any  offspring  to  engage  her 
attention  at  home,  she  went  with  him  to  Cuba,  in  two  instances 
remaining  in  that  country  during  its  delightful  winter  season. 

Of  course  when  Gerald  went  to  England,  he  always  visited 
his  friends  at  Herri ngton,  which  was  beginning  to  rise  out  of 
its  squalor,  and  promised  to  be,  what  it  now  is,  the  chief  port 
of  outlet  to  France.  A  short  time  after  his  first  visit,  Jemmy 
Milton  paid  the  debt  of  nature,  at  the  age  of  seventy-one.  The 
vicar  wrote  to  Gerald,  informing  him  of  the  death  of  his  old 
friend,  and,  it  was  on  the  receipt  of  this  letter  that  he  again  re 
solved  to  visit  England.  Indeed,  Mr.  Pearce  urged  the  visit, 
in  order  that  he  might  be  present  when  the  will  of  the  old 
sailor  was  read. 

Erom  the  vicar's  lips  he  heard  the  following  account  of  the 
last  days  of  his  old  and  attached  friend. 


A    VISIT    TO    HERRIFGTOtf.  36f 

"  Jemmy  had  been  failing  for  some  months,"  said  the  vicar 
to  Gerald,  the  day  after  his  arrival  at  Herrington,  when  both 
gentleman  were  seated  in  the  study  at  the  vicarage,  "  but  for  a 
couple  of  weeks  before  he  died  his  infirmities  increased  rapidly. 
He  suffered  no  pain ;  in  fact  labored  under  no  illness,  except 
ing  that  he  felt  an  occasional  twinge  of  rheumatism ;  but  ap 
peared  to  be  slowly  dying  of  old  age.  About  a  week  before 
his  death  he  became  so  weak  that  the  crutches  which  he  had 
made  use  of  for  some  time  were  no  longer  of  any  service  to 
him,  and  he  had  to  be  supported  every  fine  day  to  the  old 
boat-house  on  the  beach,  to  which  favorite  resort  he  persisted 
in  going  to  the  last,  lie  was  very  fond  of  sitting  and  enjoy 
ing  his  pipe,  while  his  landlady's  daughter,  of  whom  he  was 
very  fond,  read  to  him  from  the  bible,  and  from  tracts  and 
other  books  I  supplied  her  with,  and  there,  in  the  old  boat- 
house,  would  he  sit,  till  the  sun  went  down,  and  some  of  the 
fishermen  returning  from  their  daily  labors,  assisted  him  home. 

"  One  day,  the  very  day  on  which  he  died,  little  Molly  Nel 
son  came  in  a  great  hurry  to  the  vicarage  and  requested  to  see 
me,  and  when  1  sent  for  her  to  the  study,  she  said,  that  Jemmy 
Milton  had  sent  his  compliments  and  wished  to  see  the  vicar 
as  soon  as  convenient.  She  is  a  very  nice  well-spoken,  well- 
behaved  girl  this  Molly  Nelson,  and  she  acquitted  herself  of  her 
errand  very  prettily.  I  have  been  speaking  to  my  house 
keeper  about  taking  her  into  my  service. 

"  Is  Jemmy  Milton  any  worse  to-day,  my  dear  ]"  I  asked. 

"  No,  your  reverence,"  she  replied,  "  I  don't  think  he's  any 
worse ;  but,  when  I  was  going  to  read  to  him,  as  usual,  after 
John  Molson  had  led  him  to  the  boat-house,  he  told  me  to  go 
up  directly  to  the  vicarage  and  ask  you  to  call  and  see  him.. 
He  said  he  had  something  very  particular  to  talk  to  you- 
about." 

"  I  was  writing  my  sermon  for  the  next  sabbath  at  the  time  ; 
but  I  laid  my  books  and  manuscript  aside,  and  went  at  once 
with  the  child  to  the  beach. 


368  THE    WANDERER. 

"  When  we  reached  the  boat-house,  Jemmy  was  sitting  on 
the  bench  inside,  smoking  his  pipe  as  usual.  An  open  bible 
was  lying  on  the  table  before  him  and  he  had  his  spectacles  on 
and  appeared  to  be  attentively  reading  its  pages  ;  but  he  closed 
the  book  when  I  entered,  saying : 

"  I've  been  a  try  in'  to  read  a  chapter  to  myself,  while  Molly 
was  away  to  the  vicarage  for  you,  but  I  didn't  make  much 
headway.  I  never  was  a  very  easy  reader,  and  now  my  eye 
sight  is  so  bad,  that  I  cannot  see  one  word  from  another." 

"I  looked  earnestly  at  the  old  man,  but  I  did  not  observe 
any  change  since  I  had  seen  him  last — only  a  few  clays  before. 

"Shall  I  read  a  chapter  to  you,  Jemmy,  or  will  you  hear 
Molly  read  1"  said  I,  '•  She  reads  very  nicely." 

"  Molly  shall  read  to  me,  presently,"  he  replied,  "  She  is  a 
good  girl,  and  very  attentive  to  me  ;  but,  first  of  all,  I  want  to 
talk  to  you,  alone,  sir.  Here,  Molly,"  he  said,  "  here's  a  shil 
ling  for  you,  and  go  and  take  a  walk  and  buy  something  for 
yourself  and  come  back,  like  a  good  girl,  in  half  an  hour,  and 
read  to  me." 

"As  soon  as  the  little  girl  had  gone  out  the  old  man  turned 
his  face  towards  me,  and  speaking  very  seriously,  inquired 
whether  I  was  a  believer  in  dreams. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  dreams  are  mere  vagaries  of  the  ima 
gination,  and  they  are  generally  caused  by  the  recollection 
during  sleep  of  some  event  that  has  passed,  and  are  tinged  by 
what  our  thoughts  have  been  engaged  upon  during  the  day. 
AY  hen  they  come  true,  the  truths  they  may  appear  to  have 
foretold  have  usually  been  the  result  of  circumstances  we  had 
a  previous  knowledge  of  and  which  were  likely  to  lead  to  some 
particular  result.  The  result  would  naturally  have  been  the 
same  whether  we  dreamed  it  or  not." 

Ci  You  talk  very  larned  upon  the  subject,"  he  replied  ;  "  but 
I  had  a  strange  dream  last  night,  which  I  fancy  has  a  moral  in 
it,  and  I  made  bold  to  send  for  your  reverence,  to  ax  your 
opinion  consarnin'  it." 


THE    VICAR'S   THEORY.  369 

"  I  have"  no  objection  to  hear  it,  Jemmy,"  I  replied  ;  "  hut 
you  should  not  let  such  things  trouble  your  mind, — dreams,  as 
I  have  told  you,  are  idle  vageries" 

"I  scarcely  agree  with  you,  sir,"  interrupted  Gerald;  "you 
have  heard  of  the  dream — if  indeed  it  were  only  a  dream — 
which  occurred  to  me  at  the  very  time  of  my  mother's  death." 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  vicar,  "  and  my  theory  has  not  been 
altered  in  the  slightest  degree  after  hearing  it.  It  was  a  singu 
lar  and  startling  coincidence,  I  grant,  but  your  thoughts  had  for 
a  long  time  been  centered  upon  your  mother  and  the  village  of 
Abbottsford,  where  you  had  last  seen  her.  You  knew  that  she 
was  in  failing  health,  and  your  conscience,  as  you  have  told 
me,  was  constantly  reproaching^  you  for  remaining  so  long 
absent  from  her.  That  very  night  you  had,  for  the  first  time, 
opened  a  volume  she  had  presented  you  with  but  a  short  time 
before  you  parted  from  her.  You  had  read  therein  a  quota 
tion  from  Cowper,  in  her  handwriting,  written  at  the  time  she 
presented  you  with  the  book — you  have  told  me  that  she  beg 
ged  you  to  remember  the  conversation  that  had  previously  taken 
place — your  brain  was  fevered  with  the  broodings  of  your 
imagination,  and  your  mind  agitated  with  these  recollections 
thus  suddenly  forced  upon  you  in  the  stillness  of  the  night — and 
•when  you  insensibly  fell  asleep,  you  dreamed  the  dream  that 
you  fancied  to  be  a  waking  vision.  Even  the  word  '  remember,' 
which  you  thought  you  heard  from  your  mother's  lips,  and  the 
fact  of  her  uttering  that  word  immediately  before  she  died,  leads 
me  to  no  other  conclusion.  You  had  recalled  that  word  to  your 
memory  that  night.  She,  perhaps,  was  thinking  of  the  time 
when  she  presented  you  with  the  volume,  and  at  that  very 
moment  she  drew  her  last  breath.  As  to  the  dream  which  fol 
lowed  after  you  had  lain  yourself  down  in  your  hammock,  that 
was  but  the  sequel  of  the  first.  It  was  a  remarkable  coincidence, 
I  repeat,  nothing  more." 

Gerald  was  incredulous,  but  he  did  not  reply,  and  the  vicar 
continued  his  relation. 


310  THE    WANDERER. 

"  Jemmy  went  on  to  tell  me  the  nature  of  the  dream  that 
troubled  his  mind. 

"  I  thought,"  said  he,  "  I  was  sitting  in  the  old  boathouse,  as 
usual ;  the  sun  was  about  setting,  and  the  sea  was  all  sparkling 
with  gold  and  silver  as  it  reflected  his  rays.  Presently,  while 
I  was  looking  at  the  water  and  admiring  the  beauty  of  the 
scene,  I  seed  a  large  ship  suddenly  bearin'  down  channel  under 
all  sail,  She  looked  like  a  man-o'-war  with  all  her  canvas 
set.  Her  canvas  was  as  white  as  snow,  and  her  hull  as  clean 
and  bright  as  if  she'd  just  left  the  dockyard.  While  I  was  a-set- 
tin',  wondering  what  ship  she  was,  and  how  she  came  there,  all 
of  a  sudden  like — for  I  never  seed  her  a-comin',  she  'peared  all 
at  on'ct — and  where  she  was  bound,  she  threw  her  maintops'l 
aback,  and  a  boat  was  lowered  from  her,  and  a  crew  got 
into  the  boat  and  pulled  right  for  the  shore,  opposite  the  boat- 
house.  I  know'd  then  they  was  man-o'-war's  men  by  the 
reg'lar  sweep  of  the  oars. 

"The  boat  grounded  on  the  shore,  just  byyonder  where 
that  yawl  is  a  lyin',  and  the  old  man  pointed  to  a  yawl  hauled 
up  on  the  beach,  high  and  dry,  as  he  spoke ;  and  the  cox'sn',  as 
I  thought — for  there  didn't  seem  to  be  no  other  officer  on 
board — sprang  out  on  the  beach,  and  came  walking  right  up 
tow'rds  me. 

"  As  he  came  near,  I  seed  as  his  toggery  was  all  white  and 
shinin' — such  as  a  cox'n  don't  often  wear — and  says  I  to  my 
self,  "that's  some  officer  in  disguise — he  can't  blind  an  old 
hand  like  me — for  you  know,  your  reverence,  I've  often  seen 
officers  disguise  themselves  in  seamen's  toggery.  Charley 
Paget,  when  on  the  South-sea  station,  often  used  to  do  so,  at 
Valparaiso  ;  but,  1  thinks,  '  what  can  he  be  a  want-in'  with  me?' 
When  he  got  within  a  few  yards  of  the  boathouse,  he  put  a 
bo'swin's  whistle  to  his  lips,  and  piped  a  reg'lar  call.  '  Hallo  !' 
I  shouts,  out  o'  mere  force  o'  habit. 

"  '  Jemmy  Mil-ton,  ahoy !'  he  sings  out  in  return ;  *  your  roll's 
called  aboard  yonder  barky.'  " 


THE    SAILOR'S   DREAM.  371 

"  By  this  time  he'd  got  close  up 'to  the  boathouse,  and  I  saw 
his  features  was  those  of  Bill  Huntley,  as  used  to  be  maintop- 
man  aboard  the  Alert  brig-o'-war  when  I  was  folkVl-man.  He 
and  1  were  chums,  and  a  man  and  a  seaman  every  inch  was 
Bill,  and  always  serious  and  fond  of  talkin'  of  religious  things. 
I  wondered  to  see  him  actin'  the  guy  in  that  fine  toggery,  and 
I  was  agoin'  to  tell  him  so,  when  upon  looldn'  closer  at  him, 
though  his  features  was  just  like  Bill's,  he  looked  so  young  and 
spruce,  that  1  thought  I  was  mistaken,  for  Bill  was  an  old  man 
when  I  sailed  with  him,  and  this  chap  didn't  look  over  twenty, 
and  then,  when  he  came  near,  the  white  jacket  and  trousers  he 
wore,  shone  so  bright,  that  I  could  hardly  keep  my  eyes  upon 
'em  they  dazzled  so. 

"  '  Hillo  !  Jemmy  Milton,'  says  he,  '  don't  you  know  your 
old  shipmate,  Bill  Huntley  V 

'"Then  I  know'd  it  was  him;  and  I  told  him  that  I  knew 
him  afore,  but  thought  I  was  mistaken  on  account  of  his  fine 
clothes ;  for  them,  Bill,'  says  I,  '  ain't  such  slops  as  a  main-top- 
man,  or  even  a  coxs'n  sports,' 

"  '  Them's  the  garments,'  says  he,  '  as  every  seaman  aboard 
yonder  bark  wears,  and  your  name's  down  on  the  roll  call. 
You're  shipped  A.  B.,  and  must  go  right  aboard.' 

" '  You'll  tell  an  old  chum  first,'  says  I,  '  where  you're 
bound,  and  what's  the  name  of  the  ship,  and  who  the  skipper  is?' 

"  '  To  be  sure,  old  shipmate,'  says  he.  '  The  ship's  name  is 
the  Dreadnought,  and  the  captain's  name  is  Christian,  and 
we're  bound  to  Etarnity.' 

" '  I  never  heard  of  such  a  port  as  that,'  says  I,  not  knowin' 
'xactly  what  he  meant.  '  Where's  it  laid  down  in  the  charts'?' 

"'It  ain't  laid  down  in  no  arthly  chart,' says  he,  in  reply. 
'Our  skipper  guides  us  by  the  aid  of  a  good  conscience;  and 
this  here  book,'  says  he,  laying  his  hand  on  that  'dentical 
Bible — 'this  here  book's  our  'pitome  of  navigation.  But,'  says 
he,  '  you  must  bear  a  hand  aboard ;  the  captain  won't  wait ; 
he's  hove  aback  a  purpose  for  you,  and  sent  me  to  fetch 


312  THE    WANDERER. 

you.  I've  been  lookin'  out  for  you  a  long  time,  Jemmy  ;  ever 
since  I  shipped  aboard  the  craft  myself,  and  that's  a  year  ago 
and  more.' 

"  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  if  so  be  as  it  must  be  so,  .1  s'pose  it  must. 
What's  the  usage  aboard?' 

"  '  First  rate,'  says  he.  '  No  purser's  rations  ;  no  fatigue 
exercise.  Watch  and  watch,  and  all  friendship  and  kindness 
among  both  officers  and  men.' 

"  Tin  your  man  then,'  says  I,  for  something  seemed  to  tell 
me  as  I  must  go.  '  But  what  about  my  kit?  1  can't  go  aboard 
among  such  a  smart  ship's  company  as  that  in  this  here  guise  V 

"  '  You'll  have  shinin'  garments  sarved  out  when  you  get's 
aboard,'  says  he,  '  and  when  you  puts  'em  on,  you'll  look  as 
young  as  I  do.  We're  all  hale  and  hearty  aboard  yon  craft.' 

"I  jumps  up  to  go  with  him  when  I  hears  this,  and  wakes 
and  finds  that  I'd  got  my  legs  out  o'  bed,  and  was  sitting  right 
straight  up.  I  had  to  call  Tommy  Nelson  to  tuck  me  up  in  bed 
again.  '  Now,  your  reverence,  don't  you  think  as  there's  a 
meanin'  and  a  moral  in  that  dream '?' 

"  '  The  dream  has  no  particular  meaning,'  said  I.  '  You  had 
been  listening  yesterday  to  Molly  reading  some  of  those  tracts 
I  gave  her,  written  for  seamen,  and  had  thought  over  them 
in  your  sleep,  and  mixed  them  up  with  some  fanciful  vagaries, 
that's  all.' 

"  '  For  all  that,'  he  replied,  '  I  think,  sir,  as  it  has  both  a 
meanin'  and  a  moral.' 

" '  I  b'lieve  as  its  a  summons  to  call  me  to  t'other  world. 
ITowsomever,  I  thank  you  for  listenin'  to  me  so  patiently,  and 
p'r'aps  you'll  read  me  a  chapter  till  Molly  comes  back  V 

"  1  did  as  he  desired,  and  having  read,  at  his  own  request, 
the  107th  Psalm,  always  a  favorite  chapter  with  the  old  man, 
I  left  him,  as  my  sermon  was  only  half  written,  and  I  was  anx 
ious  to  finish  it. 

"  I  had  scarcely  been  an  hour  at  home  when  Molly  Nelson 
again  called,  bringing  me  the  intelligence  of  Jemmy  Milton's 


DEATH    OF    JEMMY    MILTON.  373 

death.  It  appeared  that  shortly  after  I  left  him,  the  girl  re 
turned,  and  he  asked  her  again  to  read  the  chapter  I  had  just 
read  to  him.  When  she  had  finished  it,  she  asked  him  if  she 
should  read  another  ;  but  receiving  no  reply,  she  raised  her 
head  and  saw  that  he  was  sitting  upright  and  stiff  in  his  chair. 
She  was  frightened,  and  called  to  a  fisherman  who  was  near 
by,  who,  going  into  the  boat-house,  found  the  old  man 
dead." 

"  It  was  a  strange  presentiment  of  death,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Yes,';  replied  the  vicar,  thoughtfully. 

The  day  after  this  conversation  took  place,  the  will  was 
read,  and  its  requirements  strictly  complied  with.  To  this 
day  the  old  boat-house  on  Harrington  beach  is  kept  in  good 
repair.  At  Christmas  time  six  poor  widows  are  still  recipi 
ents  of  Jemmy  Milton's  post-mortem  bounty  ;  but  the  ancient 
messmates  of  old  Jemmy,  who  for  some  years  annually  met  to 
celebrate  the  anniversary  of  his  death,  have  themselves  all 
dropped  into  the  grave,  and  the  thousand  pounds,  the  in 
terest  of  which  was  annually  expended  for  that  purpose,  has 
long  since  been  divided  amongst  their  widows  and  children. 

Jemmy  wished  to  be  buried  on  the  beach  beneath  the  cliff, 
and  had  expressed  this  wish  to  the  vicar,  but  the  desire  was 
overruled,  the  clergyman  objecting  to  it  because  the  sea  beach 
was  not  consecrated  ground.  He  lies  in  Herrington  church 
yard,  and  a  plain  head-stone  alone  marks  the  spot  where  lie 
interred  the  mortal  remains  of  one  of  the  kindest  hearted  and 
most  single  minded  of  God's  creatures,  for  the  old  man  had 
requested  that  no  inscription,  not  even  his  name,  should  be 
carved  upon  his  tomb-stone. 

Peace  to  thy  rest,  good,  kindly,  honest  Jemmy,  and  honor 
to  thy  memory.  The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them,  so 
has  written  England's  chiefest  bard.  If  this  be  true  indeed 
and  if  it  be  true  also,  that  the  good  that  men  have  done  lies 
buried  with  their  bones,  then  little  lives  of  thee,  even  in  the 
memory  of  those  who  knew  thee  best.  But  if  oblivion  does 


3U  THE    WANDERER. 

not  rest  always,  nor  perhaps  so  often  as  the  great  card  supposed, 
over  the  sepulchres  of  honest  men,  whether  they  ranked  them 
high  amongst  the  world's  dignitaries,  or  were  humble  and  low 
ly,  even  as  thou  vvert,  then  hast  thou  a  living  memory,  there, 
where  thou  wert  known  and  loved,  and  years  will  pass  away, 
and  years  again,  and  still  the  widow's  and  the  orphan's  eye, 
whom  thou  befriended  in  thy  life,  shall  drop  the  tear  of  kindly 
recollection  o'er  thy  grave. 

Gerald,  shortly  after  this  conversation,  quitted  Herrington, 
nor  did  he  ever  meet  the  worthy  vicar  again.  Two  years  after 
old  Jemmy  Milton's  death,  Mr.  Pearce  was  gathered  to  his 
fathers.  He  had  lived  a  long  and  useful  life  and  his  death  was 
lamented  and  felt  to  be  a  calamity  by  all  the  inhabitants  of 
the  parish  whose,  spiritual  welfare  he  had  cared  for  so  long  and 
with  such  earnest  zeal. 

Dr.  Knight,  for  aught  I  know,  still  lives  ;  but  if  so,  he  must 
be  a  very  aged  man  ;  may  be,  he  has  also  passed  into  the  grave 
and  in  him  the  poor  have  lost  a  friend  who  cannot  be  readily 
replaced. 

Mr.  Ashley  still  conducts  the  mission  school  at  Colombo ; 
but  he  has  long  since  retired  from  the  active  duties  of  the 
school,  his  place  being  supplied  by  his  second  son  Henry. 
Frederick  Ashley  has  obtained  the  grade  of  full  surgeon  in 
the  East  India  Company's  service,  and  when  last  heard  from 
was  expecting  to  be  appointed  Superintendent  of  the  Naval 
Hospital  at  Madras.  Rumor  also  said  that  on  the  day  that  he 
received  that  appointment,  he  was  to  lead  to  the  altar  the  ac 
complished  daughter  of  a  Madras  judge,  but  this  may  be  only 
an  idle  rumor.  The  younger  children  of  Mr.  Ashley,  all  girls, 
are  growing  up  to  be  fine  young  women,  and  promise  to  be 
very  pretty.  So  wrote  Frederick  to  Gerald.  If  this  be  not  a 
brother's  partiality,  and  they  really  are  pretty,  they  will  not 
be  long  without  eligible  admirers  in  India.  Mrs.  Ashley,  at 
last  accounts  was  still  living  and  in  tolerably  good  health,  al 
though  beginning  to  feel  the  infirmities  of  age. 

Two  years  after  George  Craddock's  marriage  with  Mary 


OUR   ELDEST   BOY.  375 

Barton,  he  wrote  to  Gerald,  from  Calcutta.  His  father,  he 
wrote,  had  just  received  the  appointment  of  Resident  at  Ban 
galore,  and  he  and  his  \vife  were  going  to  remove  thither  with 
him.  George  furthermore  wrote  that  it  was  not  likely  his 
father  would  ever  leave  India  again,  nor  should  he  leave  the 
country  while  his  father  lived. 

Mr.  Hoffmann  lived  to  be  a  very  old  man.  He  attended 
the  cluL  regularly  every  evening  until  within  a  few  weeks  of 
his  death.  It  is  not  thought  that  he  ever  sent  a  "  venture 
abroad,  again,  on  speculation  ;  but  he  often  told  the  joke  against 
himself  about  Gerald's  bad  luck.  He  was  quite  partial  to  re 
peating  it,  and  thought  it  a  most  capital  story,  at  which  no  one 
laughed  more  heartily  than  himself.  But  the  old  man  has  now 
been  dead  several  years. 

It  was  on  the  21st  of  February,  just  twenty-four  years,  all 
but  one  day,  since  Gerald  Dal  ton  had  opened  his  eyes  to  this 
world,  amidst  all  the  din  and  tumult  of  a  New  York  celebra 
tion  of  the  anniversary  of  Washington's  birth-day  that  Gerald 
and  Alice  were  seated  by  the  fire  in  the  parlor  of  their  snug  villa 
in  New  Hampshire.  A  fine  little  boy  of  three  or  four  weeks 
old,  only,  was  nestling  on  Alice's  bosom.  His  mother  looked 
delicate,  but  the  bloom  of  health  was  returning  to  her  cheek 
and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  love  and  happiness  as  she  gazed 
alternately  at  the  infant  in  her  arms  and  at  her  husband,  whose 
arm  encircled  her  waist. 

"  To-morrow  is  the  anniversary  of  Washington's  birth-day," 
said  Gerald,  after  gazing  for  some  moments  abstractedly  at  the 
fire  sparkling  in  the  grate. 

"  And  your  birth-day,  dear  Gerald,"  said  Alice. 

"Yes,  and  suppose — since  the  boy  would  come  into  the  world 
some  weeks  before  his  father's  and  Washington's  birth-day — that 
we  have  him  christened  to-morrow,  and  call  him  George  Wash 
ington  Dalton.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  for  a  name,  Alice1?" 

"  I  like  Gerald  better,"  she  replied,  pressing  her  husband's 
hand. 


THE    WANDERER. 

"  Then  let  it  be  Gerald  Washington  if  you  like.'' 

"As  you  please,"  said  Alice. 

"  Then  it  is  settled,  and  I  hope  he'll  turn  out  to  be  as  good 
a  man  as  his  namesake." 

"  Which  namesake,  Washington  or  his  father1?"  said  Alice, 
smiling. 

"  As  both  his  namesakes  then,  Madame  sauce-box,"  replied 
Gerald.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  the  roses  returning  to  your  cheek, 
my  love,"  he  added,  "  for  I  really  ought  to  go  to  Cuba  ;  Alvero's 
last  letter  urged  a  speedy  visit.  If  that  offer  to  dispose  of  the 
Regla  estate  be  an  advantageous  one,  we  would  do  well  to 
accept  it  and  close  the  bargain." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Alice,  "  I  hope  our  boy  will  not  be  such 
a  wanderer  as  you — You  wandered  over  half  the  world  before 
we  were  married,  and  I  think  you  have  been  wandering  from 
home  ever  since." 

"  On  business  only,  love,"  said  Gerald,  kissing  the  cheek  of 
his  wife,  "  I  could  always  wish  you  to  accompany  me,  but  this 
time  of  course,  it  is  impossible.  But  if  we  can  sell  our  Cuban 
property,  we  can  invest  the  money  here  to  better  advantage, 
and  1  shall  not  be  so  often  called  from  home." 

"  Then  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  sell  it,"  said  Alice,  earnest 
ly,  "  I  am  content  to  remain  here ;  but  I  like  to  have  you 
always  with  me." 

"  And  you  do  not  wish  again  to  return  to  England  ?" 

"  No,  my  husband's  home  is  mine — Where  he  is  there  would 
I  be  also." 

"  You  like  America  as  well  as  England  ?"  said  Gerald. 

"  Better,  dearest,  I  have  known  greater  happiness  since  I 
have  been  here  than  I  ever  knew  before." 

"Then,  Alice,  I  will  go  once  again  to  Cuba,  and  manage  to 
dispose  of  the  estates,  even  if  we  have  to  suffer  some  little  loss, 
and  when  I  return,  you  shall  never  have  occasion  again  to  taunt 
me  with  being  a  wanderer  from  home  and  you." 

More  than  ten  years  have  elapsed  since  the  birth  of  Gerald 


SETTLED    DOWN.  377 

and  Alice  Dalton's  eldest  boy — and  six  other  children,  boys 
and  girls,  all  now  living,  all  healthy  and  hearty  have  blessed 
their  union.  The  Cuban  property  was  sold,  and  the  proceeds 
of  the  sale  invested  in  American  securities,  from  which,  to 
gether  with  the  rent  from  the  Ohio  property,  and  the  in 
terest  of  the  legacy  bequeathed  by  Jemmy  Milton,  Gerald 
enjoys  an  ample  income.  He  is  devoted  to  farming,  and  has 
introduced  several  improvements  in  agriculture  which  his 
neighbors  have  followed  with  success.  Once,  since  he  sold  the 
Cuban  estates,  he  has  been  again  to  Europe — and  then  Alice 
and  the  oldest  boy  accompanied  him  in  his  tour  on  the  conti 
nent;  but,  he  has  now  settled  down  for  life — so  he  says — and 
has  resolved  to  make  his  own  homestead,  or  at  the  furthest,  his 
own  country — the  boundary  of  his  wanderings. 


THE  END. 


LIST   OF  UNIVERSALLY  POPULAR  BOOKS, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  WANDERER." 


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An  interesting  and  novel  Tale  of  Life.    Companion  to  "  THE  LAMPLIGHTER. 
Published  in  one  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1,00. 


Or,  The  Orphan's  Wrong?.  By  the  author  of  "The  Wanderer,"  &o. 
Beautifully  illustrated.  Complete  in  1  vol.  Price,  paper  covers,  50  cU». 
Bound  edition,  75  cents. 

THE     OLD     DOCTOR. 

Or,  Stray  Leaves  from  My  Journal.  By  the  author  of  u  The  Wanderer.'' 
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"THE    WATCHMAN!" 


AN  INTERESTING  AND  MORAL 

TALE  OF  DOMESTIC  LIFE. 
Published  in  one  volume,  cloth,  400  pages.      Price  One  Dollar. 

"And  let  us  not  be  weary  in  well  doing,  *ir  in  due  season  we  shall  renp  if  wo  faint  nol." 
READ  THE  FOLLOWING  OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS: 

THE  WATCHMAV  is  designed  to  subserve  a  good  purpose,  and  it  will,  doubtless,  effect  ha  ohje«t.  Th- 
characters  are  skillfully  drawn  and  are  remarkably  life-like,  and  the  plot  of  the  tale  is  of  the  mo»t  intareitiu^ 
d.-8<Ti;itmn.  'I  lie  moral  it  inculcates  is,  that  eventual  success  awaits'the  efforts  of  those  who  earnestly  strive  to  <it> 
their  duty  to  God  and  man.  This  book  will  be  a  fitting  companion  to  the  popular  story  of  "  The  Lamplighter."— 
Advocate.  York.  I'enn 

THE  WATCHMAN'.— This  work  is  deservedly  popular.  The  reader  finds  in  their  pnges  syinpnliiien  of  the 
closest  nature,  forming  flowers  for  his  path  throusrh  life's  weary  journey.  "The  Watchman"  is  safely  eaconeed 
against  any  ttttnck  by  critics.  Its  page*  deal  i:.  truth.  It  pictures  life  as  it  is,  an<J  inculcates  useful  lesson*.  The 
young  man  whose  past  has  been  boisterous  ;  whose  present  is  full  of  chaos  and  crags,  and  whose  FUTURE  appears 
gloomy  with  durk  f  .r.-h.i.linsrs.  mav  learn  a  lesson  of  contentment  from  its  pages  —  Advertiser,  Auburn,  N.  Y. 

THE  WATCHMAV —This  book  is  of  a  kindred  character  with  M'he  Lamplighter  "— a  volume  which 
appeared  some  months  bince  and  was  extensively  read  and  admired.  The  characters  are  all  well  drawn,  nnd  the 
•tory  SB  charmingly  told.  It  abounds  in  incident  aid  adventure,  and  is  pervaded  by  a  healthy  moral  tone.  It 
cannot  fail  of  meeting  with  great  success  with  the  reading  public. — Troy  Budget. 


H.  LONG  &  BRO.,  Publishers,  121  Nassau  St.,  N.  Y.,  and  all  Booksellers. 


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By  the  Author  of  "The  Watchman,"  "Lawyer's  Story,"  &c. 


C  fjc  ftt 


OR, 

STRAY  LEAVES  FROM  MY  JOURNAL. 

BEIXQ  SKETCHES  OF   THB   MOST   INTERESTING  BBMINISOEXCKS   OF   A   RETIRED    PHYSICIAN. 


rax  OLD  Docxoa  n»  HIS  LIBRARY. 


NOTICES  OF  THE  PRESS  : 

"  Tho  Physician,  more  than  any  other  man,  has  the  opportunity  of  studying  the  hu 
man  mind,  at  times  when  all  false  pretensions  are  thrown  aside.  In  these  sketches, 
the  reader  is  introduced  to  a  variety  of  characters,  portrayed  under  various  circum 
stances—in  health  and  in  sickness,  in  prosperity  and  in  adversity  —  and  each  character 
is  delicately  and  graphically  portrayed."  —  Times. 

"  A  powerfully  written  work,  decidedly  a  book  for  leisure  reading.  Lively  and  pa 
thetic  by  turns,  and  a  character  that  will  secure  it  a  place  on  the  shelves  of  every 
choice  library."  —  Journal. 

"  A  book  that  appeals  to  the  kindest  sympathies  of  the  reader  ;  eminently  calculated 
to  call  forth  all  the  finer  chords  of  feeling  in  favor  of  benevolence  and  universal  phi 
lanthropy."  —  Gazette. 

NEW  YORK:  H.  LONG  &  BROTHER,  121  NASSAU  STREET. 


THE  OLD  DOCTOR  is  published  in  one  volume.    Paper  covers,  50  cents  ;  or  bound  in  cloth, 
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A  BOMANCE  FOUNDED  ON  FACT-A  WORK  WORTH  READING. 


THE   LAWYER'S  STORY; 

Or,  THE  ORPHAHS'  WRONGS. 

/      DEEPLY     INTERESTING     NARRATIVE,     FOUNDED     ON     FACT. 

By  the  Author  of  "THE  WATCHMAN,"  "OLD  DOCTOR,"  &c. 


3totitiftrlh[ 


This  story  opens  with  a  scene  in  New-York,  only  a  few  years  ago,  in  which  a  brother  and 
sister,  the  liero  and  the  heroine  of  the  story,  are  introduced  by  the  lawyer,  in  a  condition  of 
honest  poverty.  He  furnishes  them  with  temporary  employment,  but  subsequently  loses 
eight  of  them  until  they  are  recalled  to  his  recollection  in  consequence  of  his  reading  an 
advertisemant  respecting  them  in  u  Philadelphia  newspaper,  which  hints  that  they  are  heirs 
to  large  property  in  England,  as  well  as  in  the  United  States.  With  some  difficulty  the 
lawyer  truces  them  out,  and  determines  to  take  their  cage  in  hand ;  but  for  a  lonir  time  his 
etforts*  are  fruitless,  in  consequence  of  Jesuitical  machinations,  employed  by  some  of  the 
noble  relatives  of  the  brother  and  sister,  who  desire  to  get  the  property  into  the  clutches  of 
the  Church.  The  young  lady  falls  temporarily  into  the  power  of  Jesuitical  agents  in  this 
country,  but  is  rescued  just  as  she  is  on  the  point  of  being  despatched  to  Italy,  to  be  placed 
in  a  convcuit,  through  the  compassion  of  a  servant.  Eventually  they  arrive  in  England,  and 
l.h«  lawyer  undertakes  to  watch  over  their  interests,  and  at  the  same  time  obtains  the  assist 
ance  of  an  English  lawyer  of  eminence. 

However,  Jesuitical  and  aristocratic  influences  still  prevail  against  them,  and  the  two 
scoundrels,  of  the  Quirk,  Gammon  and  Knap  school,  named  "Gripes  and  Cheatem,"  are 
employed  by  their  titled  relatives  to  throw  every  obstacle  in  their  way,  and  for  a  long  time 
they  succeed.  At  length,  however,  truth  prevails,  and  the  story  ends  happily. 

Thy  narrative  bears  on  the  face  of  it  an  impress  of  truth;  certainly  the  author  has  dis 
played  a  profound  knowlege  of  human  nature  in  all  its  phases,  and  without  having  his 
interest  in  the  story  weakened  by  any  gross  exaggeration  or  improbability,  the  reader,  when 
he  lays  the  book  aside,  will  unconsciously  think  of  the  adage — ''Truth  is  strange — stranger 
than  Fiction !" 

NOTICES  OF  THE  PRESS. 

"THE  LAWYER'S  STORY. — It  is  written  by  an  eminent  retired  lawyer,  many  of  the  facts 
recorded  in  which  came  under  his  own  observation,  and  the  characters  are  all  drawn  from 
real  lite.  The  plot  of  the  story  is  briefly  this: — George,  the  Fourth  of  England,  when  the 
Prince  Regent,  gave  Henry  Fitzherbert  an  estate  from  the  Crown  lands.  The  Prince's  right 
to  bestow  lands  were  involved  in  dispute,  and  Fitzherbert  came  to  America,  where  he  died. 
His  two  children,  a  son  and  daughter,  are  the  principals  of  the  story,  and,  after  many  vicis 
situdes  and  trials,  through  the  aid  of  the  American  lawyer,  they  were  finally  placed  in  pos 
session  of  the  estate.  The  details  and  incidents  of  the  story  are  of  thrilling  interest,  although, 
for  obvious  reasons,  in  certain  instances,  names,  dates  and  localities  are  changed;  jet  in 
one  or  two  instances  these  are  closely  adhered  to.  The  work  has  received  high  encomiums 
from  library  gentlemen  and  others,  whose  praise  is  not  lightly  awarded.  The  buck  has  been 
published  inelegant  form,  suitable  for  a  family  library,  and  its  tone  throughout  is  chaste, 
while  the  plot  and  incidents  are  highly  amusing  and  instructive." — Daily  T'alladivm. 

'*THK  LAWYER'S  STORY". — The  author  is  a  member  of  the  New  York  bar,  and  his  story 
purports  to  be  a  narrative  of  fads.  The  point  of  the  tale  is  the  restoration  of  a  brother  and 
sister,  American?,  to  their  rightful  heritage  in  England,  against  the  oppositions  and  intrigues 
of  a  powerful  liriti.-h  nobleman.  The  incidents  possess  much  interest,  and  are  certainly 
remarkable  'if  true,'  enough  so  to  verify  the  old  saw  that  'truth  is  stranger  thaji  fiction.'" 
— Fitrlilnirg  Reveille. 

"Tun:  LAWYKR'S  STORY. — This  work  is  founded  on  facts,  many  of  which  carne  under  the 
author's  perx-nal  knowledge;  the  principal  characters  are  drawn  from  real  life;  and  the 
interest  of  ilie.  whole  is  well  kept  up  throughout  the  entire  progress  of  the  story.  It  is  pub 
lished  in  ?legai;t  form,  and  its  tone  throughout  is  chaste,  while  the  plot  and  incidents  are 
highly  amusing  and  instructive."— Daily  Tribune. 


NEW    YORK  : 

H.    LONG    &    BROTHER, 

121  NASSAU  STREET. 


Published  in  one  volume — beautifully  Jounrf,  price  75  cent*.    In  paper  covers,  price  59  cnUg. 
mailed  on  receipt  of  price,  post  paid,  addressed  as  above. 


tL  Very  Interesting  Book  for  .Everybody.     Seven  Thousand 
Copies  Sold  in    Three   Weeks. 

The  Great  Book  of  the  Day! 

T  II  E 


BY    LADY    SCOTT, 

AUTHOR     OF    THE     "HEN-PECKED     HUSBAND,"     ETC 

Complete  in  One  Volume. 

This  work  is  superior  to  the  former  Novel  by  this  lady,  which  had  so  extensive  a  sale 
and  was  so  extremely  popular  in  this  country.  For  sublimity  of  sentiment,  ehastenesa 
Df  tone,  lively  wit,  deep  pathos  and  extensive  knowledge  of  the  secret  springs  of  tho 
human  heart,  THE  PRIDE  OF  LIFE  has  no  superior  in  the  entire  range  of  book 
publishing.  Those  who  have  read  "THE  HEX-PECKED  HUSBAND"  will  need 'no  further 
incentive  to  induce  them  to  purchase  the  present  work,  which  is  superior  to  even  that  in 
*ver  changing,  fascinating  interest.  Others  will  have  a  treat  before  them  in  their  first 
.ntroduction  to  this  charming  authoress. 


THE  PRIDE  OF  LIFE.  —  This  is  the  title  of  a  new  novel,  by  Lady  Scott,  autnor  of 
'The  Hen-Pecked  Husba.nd."  This  work  has  received  very  fluttering  encomiums  from 
the  English  press;  and  with  one  accord,  it  is  pronounced  superior  to  the  former  novel  by 
5his  lady,  which  had  so  extensive  a  sale  in  this  country.  For  sublimity  of  sentiment, 
jhaste/iess  of  tone,  lively  wit,  deep  pathos  and  extensive  knowledge  of  human  n  ture 
the  Pride  of  Life  h-as  no  superior  in  the  range  of  modern  book-publishing.  The  Edin- 
burp  Review  pronounces  it  "  such  %  book  as  we  seldom  meet  with  in  these  days  of 
morbid  sentimentality  —  true  to  life  and  nature  throughout."  —  J^ancaster  Intelligencer 
ami  Journal, 

THE  PRIDE  OF  LIFB.  A  Novel,  by  Lady  Scott.  —  In  all  respects,  we  regard  this  work  aa 
the  bupenor  of  its  immediate  predecessor,  ''The  Hen-Pecked  Husband."  The  plot  is 
more  ingenious,  the  characters  are  more  skillfully  painted,  and  the  scenes  and  incident.". 
ire  more  exquisite  and  pointed.  The  book  is  true  to  nature,  throughout,  and  possesses 
a,  keen  :ind  vivid  afflatus,  which  pervades  every  page  like  a  November  atmosphere.  Tha 
authoress  thinks,  reasons,  describes  and  Hrgues  like  a  true-hearted  and  pure-minded 
woman,  and  if  she  finds  it  necessary  to  deal  a  blow,  does  it  with  the  same  grace  and 
honesty  as  if  she  were  uttering  a  compliment.  Read  the  volume  and  save  it  for  the 
children. 

THE  PRIDE  OF  LIFE.  By  Lady  Scott.  —  This  is  a  powerfully  written  work,  and  those 
who  have  read  the  "  Hen-Pecked  Husband,"  by  the  same  author,  should  purchase  and 
read  this  book.  —  Philadelphia  Sunday  Mercury. 

THE  PRIDE  OF  LIFE.  A  Novel.  By  Lady  Scott.  —  This  book  must  not  be  cla.ssed 
with  the  trashy  fictions  so  abundant  at  the  present  day.  It  is  written  with  power. 
pathos  and  refined  sentiment,  and  depicts,  in  away  "to  point  a  moral"  for  the  reader's 
profit  the  workings  of  one  of  the  master-  passions  of  the  human  heart.  —  Reading  Gazettt 
ami  Democrat. 

This  is  a  charming  story,  elegantly  written  and  very  interesting.  Indeed  it  is  said  to 
be  tho  best  production  of  the  fair  author.  We  commend  it  to  the  perusal  of  our  friends. 
It  is  neatly  printed.—  liiiffti/n  Daily  Republic. 

THE  PKIDE  OF  LIFK.  By  Lady  Scott.  —  The  "Hen-Pecked  Husband,"  by  the  author 
of  this  story,  was  very  favorably  received  by  the  novel-reading  community.  It  v.ras  liked 
for  its  liveliness,  humor  and  purity  of  description.  The  latest  production  of  I.iuly  Scott 
will  command  more  admiration  than  its  predecessor.  It  is  a  well  written,  lively  anJ 
very  interesting  tale,  which  is  managed  with  ability.  —  Sunday  Despatch. 


II.    LONG    AND    BKOTIIEK 


NASSAU-STREET. 


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fairs  of  the  Household  Avith  comfort  and  economy  ;  also,  preparations 
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BY  MRS.  S.  J.  HALE. 

ILLUSTRATED    WITH    NUMEROUS    ENGRAVINGS. 


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